#58

Todd now, one more. The glob of boys grows...a monster. Apologize to Ben. But blame it on the liquor. Self-righteous coward. Is it written on my face? Jonathan's purple sweathsirt. Regal, popish, papal edict. Offers it to me, but what would I trade? I had a purple backpack once. Plaster it with stickers to avert their leers.

"Flaccid mind." Now there's a phrase. Mine. Jon was a masters student. But he had a Thouron. Tour on. But I stayed regardless. Would rather forget that. Reuben on my side, and that Freudian tribe. (Lynda). If death is not death, is it death? Carrion Rats: a deck of them would be gruesome. Bit like me, R. Syphyllis, I heard JM say. Frail with thick black scruff. Hairy plume? On the street another, different, but the brown tuft sprouting from his collar all the same. Save the Children. Rather save my pennies.

Leather-faced man on the corner past the Mill. Press pass, remember? Bouquet of flowers in his left hand. Haven't seen you in the coffee shop, he says. Because I'm no longer there: retort. Better this than that. Matthew faces east in window. Warm body. Probably still is. Hat or scarf. Hidden away, but find them. Would like some coffee too. I had a mother who could pray...