She’s lost in between the grocery aisles of screaming kids. When did she realize she was wearing a wig? the apron had said enough long ago…. maybe he could have captured the polka dots while he was leaving. she’s lost in time.  not even her time, someone else’s. she fumbles for a comb or something while desperately wondering when the phone will stop yelling at her. if she doesn’t answer it-it’s only ringing.  she wants the sound to fuck her ears until they bleed so she can smile in red lips.  Where did the time shoot out when I was sitting on the sunset? The Chinese Store. She had fainted into the golden sun of june first. Her grocerie bags slipped over from the past and clumsily dropped to her feet. No food. Just piles and piles of photographs. black and white. red and brown. lamp posts, buildings, stray cats, corner stores, homeless in rittenhouse, fountain people, the inside of bars, completely fluttering. cluttering around grateful shoes.


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