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2012-12-14 - 10:57 a.m.

the promises we make to ourselves.

i met an old friend today, unexpectedly. he was walking along the railroad tracks between delta gypsum and the fortress scrapyard, and he called me by a name i hadn't heard in a while. as always, his hair and mustache were perfectly and precisely groomed. he was traveling with a very young and frighteningly thin girl named lark, who had red dreds and freckles on her hands and face. they had spent the night in a boarded up house near the boys and girls club by jesus word church, and today he had a job putting up holiday lights. they were on their way to chattanooga to see his stepmom for christmas.

last time i saw him, he had a very old dog named laurie. she had died some years ago, and now he wears one of her teeth around his neck on a leather cord. i gave him a book on 19th century minor cults and manias, and i left lark with my winter hat. she fumbled around in her pack and handed me a wooden spoon with an oddly shaped and impractical handle. i'm pretty sure she carved it herself.

he said they'd be sure to visit me when they come through again next year. i said, i won't be here anymore next year. i don't know where i will be, but i know it won't be here.

* * *


reading: sōseki, the gate.
listening to: a fairly astonishing c.h.a.o.s. production mashup of smells like teen spirit and sloop john b.
working on: catching up after a week of being sick.
in the garden: a lacy frost on everything, so thick it almost looks like snow.


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