First drafts about lies and imagined moments from other people's lives.
Thursday, December 27, 2012
"Color of her eyes was the color of insanity." --Dave King
It's always like that part in Anpao. It is pronounced, in my head: Ann Pay Oh. Snakes and ankles and bare breasts and too much sweat and keep going anyway. What else would you possibly want to do, but that? What else could (haha, cud) you do? Seriously: You. What would you do? I would call less often, which these days wouldn't be hard to do. I wouldn't have called then, looking back on it. I'd've taken that jam stain and laughed and washed it off and then I'd've tattooed another F on my forearm, a big ol' embroidered looking mother fucker of an F and I'd've left it at that. Seriously: That is what I would do, if somehow these eyes were always always blue shifted. It'd change everything, that solitary phone call not made. Dominoes. Would I be here, though? Would I care? It's interesting, that proposition equation. Would it be even? eF equals n?