i woke up wandering. i could not finish the chapter. the first lines of the paragraph were an obstruction, these were not words. i could not understand them. i was well into the book. i had been enjoying it, but that day it felt like it was written in another language.
we could not go inside the museum. they turned us away. i can almost imagine something like
fate was at play. it was not their fault. we were no longer members and we needed the money for other things.
we walked around in the neutral light of the day. but this was no ordinary day. pig was found. a man with no eyes, another without legs. we toyed with idea of miniature bottles of tequila, then quickly dismissed it. elvis presley's hound dog played loud from a store front in spainish.
i crossed the street with a painted lady - dyed red, pink and blue.
i missed my chance to steal her soul, uh, take her picture.
most likely her soul could not be stolen.
yeah, i flipped the image on its side. because that's the way i saw it.