in a lunchbox quixote trailer, waiting to be cALLED TO SET, THE DOORS MADE AN ENTRANCE INTO MY DAY. A NEWLY BEFRIENDED WOMAN NOW SITS THREE TABLES AWAY, AND AGAIN I AM ALONE, AND SHE A STRANGER. HAUNTINGLY JAUNTY GUITAR AND DRUMS MIX ODDLY WITH THE CHATTER OF the proximal PEOPLE. people watching runs rampant in the limiting walls of my world; always a plethora of faces, feelings, and folly to observe and release passing judgements upon.
the doors always pop up in northridge; i’m starting to believe they’re connected. i hope i’m not always connected with northridge. the streets bore me, the sun scorches me, and the wind catches my ginger flames in my lipgloss.