A green room full of comedians.
Conversations concerning MySpace.
Conversations concerning space that take place in the daytime.
Those who would extend a metaphor about the moon far enough to ruin a love song.
Love songs concerning the moon without irony.
These weekly late-night parades of local folkloric and/or confessional acoustic fare.
The doorside peddling of merchandise.
Convincing well-meaning friends that you are okay to walk home.
Apologies for the sake of after-logic.
Not asking for an apology when leaving the second voicemail.
The glasses on the desk in the morning.
Dust; laundry; tchotchkes.
Tchotchkes with sob stories.
Sob stories.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment