TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
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04.21.07, friday night
Black water gushes from the seam separating ceiling and wall. I'm late, and I need to grind the coffee before the rush.. . .
So what kind of luck happens when a fox crosses your path? This trickster looked both ways before leaping over the yellow-flecked bank into the hedgerow where soft, pretty little things sang and fluttered.. . .
Later Jimmy said, There's already been one shot this morning.