sunday vapid when i was a kid, it meant brunch at the club, waffles, sweet syrup. now adolescent, inner party animal discovered, unleashed. i spent the evening at starbucks - tea, peach danish and petty discounts. bus one-five-five stunk. the ride cost sixty-five cents. the club, six digits. back home, poker den - losing streaks and waning decks, pizza and pepsi. i began painting, a few brushstrokes at a time. panic, frenetic. iron buddha tea - mine and grandpa's favourite, prudishness dreary. right now, i'm weary. i guess nostalgia can wait. farewell, islander. photocredits to gladzor

11.11.07 19:16 Permalink

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