Then I try to determine sex, age, race, stature. Personal identification is last. There are cases where, much as I hate to say it, I don't even try. When it's three here, you're eating cornflakes back east. Cornflakes getting soggy while I can't sleep.
Jets come and go like sliding doors, the rubbing sound of air and metal.
TV mimes the effect, yet it's not necessary. We could be sharing something simple like the stars. Fab Four heads moulded in sparkling sugar, surrealistic air-brushed guitars and quarter notes. Notes, not music, nonessential script, elegant as words, sweet and true. When Imagine came out, my sister was driving.