everything’s going babyclassics these days, with countable hours to renn fayre and l’objet petit-a official springtime property of l’equipe de catastrophe. there’s some forgivable sidewalk ballast, mystery summer included: chicago is for calendar pages and lotto logic. my feet are stained per usual, via bee sting pens, adventure quilts, spotlights, and an ice box cake, and i think my brain is about to go on a melting spree.
visiting le roi has led me outside, renewing something i used to think about as i sprawled on picnic tables. it was september and i let water puddle in my eyes, smoked cigarettes, and squinted unhappily at the upside-down lamp posts. with my reclaimed “dudes,” i’ve been calling out at midnights to tell my friends of [E]xcellence. this is a good spring evening. this is a job well done.
