Communicator, cooker, drinker, poet. Grew up in a mining town, wore a hard hat.

Saturday, June 17, 2006

our summer project

i like sitting naked in my apartment when it's hot. my body sticks to the cotton-blend case of my three year old futon. the wooden frame creaks when i adjust myself. my legs are smooth today, men in suspenders were giving away razors on the street. but my feet are dirty, as always. i walked to the laundromat wearing sandals. my mother called when i arrived home, told me she'd found a novel at the library that'd been written by a mother and daughter team. they made a killing, she said. new york times bestseller. she's asked me to draft an outline and email it to her. it'll be our summer project, she said.