I am at the hair salon, waiting for the magic tinfoil to do its thing and Pandora just served up Ratatat then Daft Punk and my eyebulbs emanated little hearts. Then Vampire Weekend shot arrows into the hearts and they flapped on the Pergo like paper fishes.
Everything in the brain is fruit cocktail in gelatin. Everything in the heart is mashed potatoes with garlic.
My coworkers signed their congrats on a card for me. I was very shy while reading it; I don’t know why. Seeing their handwriting, some for the first time, was so intimate.
Nine days, spines of a fan dropped demurely, swinging and swinging away.