i should write another novel. another sad one. ah, but fuck. no one read the last one. plus there are all these other stories i want to tell. but, the time. and the notion that my best might involve people skills. ah, but fuck. i am not running. she said i was running.
ok. i am running. but it's not from something, like she was implying. i am running simply to run
ah, but fuck. new york, that jaywalker's paradise. volcano national park and the noise the black crater made scraping and crunching beneath my wet boots. mexico, and that drug dealer's circle spinning eyes. the angry way the small guy snorted his own product next to the marina. then tennessee, the shark's restlessness
