TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: profile
On Monday, a dead mouse lay on the floor beside my desk, still and soft and curled as if only asleep. The next day, a small white-socked black cat mewled at my door. It came in for tuna, and stayed for scritches. It catnapped on my bed as I read Eve Babitz's Sex and Rage. This morning, I noticed bright red droppings that some animal left on the white wall outside our door.