Morning Pages, September 17, 2018
I always noticed its heft. Heavy and tank-like, loud and hot. Steamy. Indolent. Lit by the sun. Low-handing pull chords, some stripped loose from disrepair. The ads are old except for a few. Come and learn this over here. Four rows of two seats in the back, leading to a round set of 7 seats at the back. We sat two rows from the back, as a trio took up every seat. All of them with their feet up, comfortably stretched out for exclusivity. My left hand hung over the seat in front of me. Both hands, actually. My head nearly banged against the steel between my wrists. I was bent over, looking down at my shoes, and the steel beneath, discolored from years of spills. I was hung the fuck over, and we were headed to another party.