Saturday, September 6, 2014

A small room inside a bay window. A single bed, a table and chair, and a sink. I could manage something larger, with more conveniences, but I could never match the view.

Home now. The groceries on the table, still in the bag, the celery sticking out the top.

The contrast -- the relationship -- between the celery and the bag's paper.

Electrically green, and the bag a somber brown.

I close my eyes and dream of my mother  arranging things below a sign that reads USED PIÑATAS. She pretends not to notice, even though I am travelling a 100 miles an hour.

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