wearing fishnets under the proper work pants to stay warm the ripped umbrella the ghost in my house that always unlocks the front door in the middle of the night. two locks somehow always undone. am i sleepwalking? when you ask yourself a question enough times you start to believe it. my feet are cold. you are going away next week. i wish i could go too, but only for awhile. i want a sandwich from ruby's dripping on my pants, leaves blowing thru hyde park, the angry lady with the rolled up jeans and the purse of old paper on the #1 lamar. i miss all these things. i miss you, because you have a girlfriend and never seem to call me to drive around with you anymore. i keep it all to myself, that i wish a better person for you but i am glad you are happy.