I awoke at 5:08 to a beautiful woman dimly lit by the vague Rhode Island sunrise peaking through an orange bedsheet hung from nails above a window.

I lied.

The things holding the would be curtain weren't nails but a form of hook I'll never find in any Home Depot. But that's not what disturbed me. I fell in love this weekend. I fell in love with romance, passion and the inevitable conversation telling me that I have to go, she has to stay, it won't work, but in the meantime, let me carry you to your room only to not think and just do for the remainder of the night until we wake at 5:08.

I rode on my motorcycle through 15 different climates in three states. I fell asleep in middle of the Service station parking lot sprawled out on top of my bike, mouth open, probably half erect, and thinking of young girls with dresses that button from the front.

I would make it home eventually. Eventually I say because the time effaced itself from my life. I now sit here, thinking of Newport and banal conversations about how things could be and wonder if I should give it any more effort.

Not could be, were, I mean. What things are, well, she's not here, but then, even when I'm there, she never truly is. But then . . .

I like it that way says the tattooed cowboy on his mechanical horse riding off into the sunset of rain and pollution wishing only that he had arms around his waist for five more long bleeding warm petrified minutes.

You won't fall off, I assure you kid.

Hold on.

Every ending is a beginning. Repeat that ten times then call me me if the problem persists.

Yeah well, I've decided. I will not sastify you people with ideas and thoughts of gossip of who I think of at a certain time at a certain place, nay, no, not so.

I will spare the puppies of the world, for I am tired.

alas.

y'all have a great weekend. I shirley will.

She sat there watching, or at least looking my way, last night. I thought nothing of it.

I saw her at the same place today and she gave me a smile that said, you should talk to me. I knew it. You always know when you should, but again, it's the kinetic that I always have difficultly with.

So I did.

I know you, or I've met you before.
-Maybe
You know such and such.
-Yeah I know such and such. My name's so and so.
Hi, I'm this and that
-who?
thi . . . this and that
-hi (smile)

I was nervous. She said she saw me before and so my allegations were right. I felt like saying, it's my dog isn't it, or, you've noticed the shnazzy haircut I gave myself at 5 this morning, but what I said, after odd converstation about why we go to this place is:

okay we'll I'm sure I'll see you around.

She looked at me like, that's it. I'm looking intensly into your eyes (this is her talking to herself wanting to say this to me) and you leave with out engaging in a pleasant conversation on this amazing day, after you just found you've gotten an A in physics. Tell me that you're not just going to walk away.

I did. I like her and that's why I did. Who knows what she is or why she is, but she seems, well, new.

I like new. Who knows if I'll like her, but yet one more reason to leave my house, and that my people is why I get up in the morning.

Or at least why I got up today. Tommorrow is another story.


incidentally, robin, I feel for you. You're shittiness has made you immune to it for four years is what I figure. And if I see you at the Pink tonight at 1am, the whiskey is on me.

It's bad enough to wake up late after you've realized the magnitude of work you are missing out on because of something stupid like sleep, but to go to take a bite of your Life cereal only to almost take a bite of a huge carpenter ant, or ants I should say. They were swimming.

But this is not the first time.

Every night, day I get home, I see four or five around my kitchen. One night I realized that the box of AppleJacks I had above my cupboards, was infested, INFESTED people, with fucking ants.

It's sick and I want to get rid of these fuckers. Any ideas besides cleaning up after myself which is a goddamn feat in itself . . . but I will stand by the fact that, that is not the only reason why these things exist in my kitchen, for it is clean now.

They've grafittied the ant traps I left. They sit around drinking and laughing, mocking me for my feeble attempts.

Fuck I'm pissed.