Aching, creaky joints from too damn many birthdays. A sailboat at sea. A homestead maybe. My sister will be reading this email, and then clicking her mouse here. So I'm waiting by the phone.
Love is a bummer.
I've spent the whole day doing nothing. I see no reason to start now. The key to my heart slipped out of my shirt pocket into careless hands. Last of all, winter. Sometimes, I sit on moss-covered stones in the woods.