March 2010

Recalling Summer, 2009

Amish kids are eating sandwiches that taste better than mine, wrapped in wax paper and pulled from metal lunch pails they carried on to the Amtrak. They don’t have luggage, just the sandwiches on thick slices of bread, adorned with slabs of meat and cheese that smell curiously clean.

Humans as spiders

There’s a man reading Blood Meridian while knitting a consistent pearl stitch that would have my grandmother’s envy. He’s got hypnotic fingers, crazy magician’s hands with long digits and a broad palm. Air hands in palmistry. The man works either oblivious to my attention or uninterested in it, and I don’t care so long as …

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