: Cottonmouth morning. A mini breakfast of coffee and peanut butter on toast. Air siren blasted at 10:00 am; impending nuclear fallout? flash flood? a wall of energized particles to crisp the skin and melt shadows into the concrete? Met Y. at Tanukikoji 6 in front of Theater Kino. Broken English. Y. and I the only ones laughing, me at every nuance and facial gesture Parker Posey made. I noticed her cloud and rain silver pendant, he the pair of scissors threaded by a silver chain. Mohitos at Betty. “Would you have flown to Paris to try to find him?” “Had I quit my job, yes, I would. Would you?” “I never would’ve lost his number.” Dreams might not come true but they’re looking glass reflections of the truth. A dictionary as a weapon. Vicious, featherless birds with seeds for brains. The gift of flight but never gaining more altitude than an inch from the ground. The assistant grocery store manager who sings nothing but Sleater-Kinney during a busy and musicless hour. “Who are those people in your dreams?” “They’re no one I know.” The $7 can of Tecate with a slice of lemon and a pinch of salt on the rim. Taxi ride. Like a goldfish. “I must tell you a story about a cab ride I took in San Francisco one night.” A kiss goodbye at the turnstile. Uni-Qlo and a basket of new clothes. The medium or the large? A pair of teenagers in Seiyu; mountains of copper and hay-colored hair, they were netherworld nomads, teased, sprayed and black eyeliner.
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