TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
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06.16.03, monday night
Up and down Clement Street we spied gold-dipped pink crepe paper lanterns, dangling from shop rafters like colossal apple tree blossoms. I bled alot and drank Guinness. It was a celebratory drink, for Jimmy had given me a claddagh ring, a crowned heart held by two hands. Heavy, despite its smallness. I wear it on the left hand, point in, lobes out.