the luminescent grey that woke me up at nine this morning reminded me of a half-moon window on torch lake and the tragedy of time zones. i am lying on a cerqu-air mattress, wet hair tangled in a towel, while peter breathes and bundles into the pastels. last night, with bernice’s gps-fantastic aid, we went to a hookah bar in downtown cleveland, with disco lights and would-be sexy girlfriend belly-dancers in target boots and jeans with no back pockets. our hookah was retrofuturistic red and the peach made my lungs sleepy. it was a spirograph like i haven’t seen in months. christina stole the spotlight and made the dual frumpsters gaze down frumpily into their mocktails. kate received a team member with a small head and atrocious facial hair that framed his face like a skinny toilet seat cover. they played sandstorm.
later, at the house, emmet went all-out fred astaire with boo-boo, cookies became cookies, and i ate a lot of carrots. who knew there was so much gluten in a slim jim? companions come in tomorrow; they will be smothered and fed and shorter than all of us. late december is all about alliances.
i have been banish-ed in consideration of the burly, grunting repairment who have descended on my house, rendering our electrical system unusable and highly dangerous. given fifty-five minutes to dry my hair and use the toaster, i took a zombie shower and dried my hair over wheaties. really now, who buys wheaties? but tomorrow is the day. i shall not say for what lest it interfere, but i have so many blessings. for now, coffee shop respite. a little boy was too shy to borrow my second chair. i wish i could thought-speak.