I was walking down Route 17. It was 91 in the sun. I yawned and covered my mouth with my right hand. I have long fingers. Too long for the laptop–don’t know how tall men use one–anyway when I uncovered my mouth I must have stretched my fingers as I often do.
A woman with a sweet as honey, dripping in molasses true South Carolina accent screamed from an SUV: “Did you tell me to f–k myself?”
i did a very short 3WW in Bone’s comments. Oh, here it is.
I was too eager. I desperately wanted to be caught.
The perfume that I bathed in left not a trance of scent.
The street was heavily scented with the perfume of unknown interlopers.
There were no markers. No way of finding me.
Once again I was alone in eager desperation.
Savannah my computer and Toto my imaginary dog, like to write horrible poetry. I let them. When we get home we might focus on selling our apartment to one of the two people still looking.
