TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
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10.24.07, wednesday night
In the elevator we squished ourselves around an impassive little black woman, crouched over a small table adorned with a radio that had once been pristine, unchipped by accident or intention.
As we adjusted our bags, breath, and thoughts, Patti LaBelle sighed: On my own/Once again now/One more time/By myself...