I Had Been Spending A Lot Of Time Running In Geometric Patterns Inside A Junkyard.

Before a man on top of a hill pulled his hair out from the top of his head from inside his mouth.

I turned around and saw that the man was everywhere.

. . .

If We Kept On Walking, If We Had No Reason To Run, If The Awful Things They Think We Did Started To Happen, We Wouldn't Be Ready Anyway.

We've watched the wrong movies.

We've thumb-tacked the maps of the world.

We've gone to medical campuses and pretended to be students by the hundreds.

We've joined every jury and put mannequins crushed up in accident contortions by the sides of roads.

We've stopped anything from working just right.

We are our average omens.

. . .

I Was Inside A Room With One Window.

I jumped out of it to land in a room with one window.

From there, I jumped out of the window. And landed in a room with one window.

And it continued forever.

Steve Martin.

'Perseverance is a great substitute for talent.'

It Was A Decent Enough Day.

I sat there, in a pause over the recycling center for lunch, awake but not upset, watching the futility smoke out of the stacks over pastrami and vodka.

A boy walked up to me. My age. He wore a schoolgirl's uniform.

I said hi.

. . .