mogadino. mogador. medolphinol. bupe. we like to take tolman street in the dark and feel the crater wake on the frame of the car. it shakes like a cookie sheet, bounces like a diving ring. roadways unimproved speak softly, require no left turns, brush the car with things in the shape of mountain laurel. the rain returned last night, and with the new season, i tried to recall everything i know of brazil. geny gomez seems so fragile at my height. i am glad we left the city before this happened, though i wanted nothing of the sort.

now we want a few more place settings and a complimentary covey of dinner guests before november first. we want spencer’s weakness, and we want better manners. we want we want an open-air element. what we want are perfect, non-Ballardian globes of snow pea and sweet corn, liquid but for the strength of a sphere. last friday, post RKSK, i woke up with a bruise on my knee that looked, in the haze of my rousing moments, just like the cover of the third no man’s land trade. we want to save 10% at safeway and identify the quirk.