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2004-03-18

This town a museum of old boyfriends that sometimes I spy from behind magazine racks from beneath my mousy mop of hair. I think sometimes whether I want to disturb the scene. A handkerchiefed head down in a book. A frowny faced grocery store transaction. The crowded crosswalks uptown where i hide under the most unattractive woolen tukes. So far the choice of leaving things undisturbed.

Aside: My sister and I are doing power hour and falafel making maybe perhaps this evening. My blond twinlet. She talks so loud and wobbles pitchers of beer over to the table.

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Later in the evening Rue and I are staring at the magazine rack. He gets absorbed in Redbook reading statistics of women who look up their high school sweethearts: he says 82% cheat and 54% leave. We leave with 2 dollars worth of fruit for home.