It took a long time to unfold myself this morning, to wipe the crust from around my mouth and eyes. Getting up was like yanking the rip-cord four times before the engine howled and sputtered into life. Today is day five in Seattle.
King of the Cats, last night--wine, poems, and cigarettes--and music the night before. Tonight I'm getting lost in a small apartment this side of Capitol Hill. Small blue pills have been helping me through my days, but at night, my lungs harden into bricks. It's time to quit smoking, although the prospect of doing so today is fucked, because today is Friday.
Coffee helps. Small blue pills are better. Just kidding. My family reads this, so I'm only kidding.
Today I feel good. It took a little while, that crusty unfolding I told you about, but now that I've scooped the sleep out of my eyes and soaked my lungs in boiling-hot water, I can see clearly and breathe nearly as well. I inhale the swaying trees as Autumn clutches at the roots, peeling leaves away while inside the trunk, a cancerous tar sinks in.
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