for halloween, buy her a trumpet

do you ever have a day that's so good, so wholly satisfying, it becomes inconceivable to do anything besides exactly what you wish to do? needless to say, class was cancelled.

a few credits:

to the rather attractive barista at jet fuel: your passionate duets with ray davies meant infinitely more to me than you will ever know.

to my poor, abandoned bicycle: you are a true and steadfast friend. i promise to return one day soon and release you; at the very least, i will grant you last rites deserving of your loyalty.

to the residents of st. james cemetary: thankyou for letting me tread through your midst with such light-hearted ease. it occurred to me that perhaps to be dead is to possess a sense of acceptance and understanding that in life, we cannot fathom.

to the concerned employee at kodak camera: i apologize for my carelessness in neglecting to properly close the tabs of my exposed film. i now know that this may have been a fatal mistake for my negatives. perhaps it would comfort you to know that the photographs themselves are likely all either poorly composed or exposed; at any rate, i have a tendency to bumble my way through all things, which i can only hope (but often doubt) is more endearing than frustrating to the outside observer.

to the decidedly gritty man who requested to "touch my hair": i chose to smile at you, rather than react with disgust, as you caught me in a rare mood in which i felt an upwelling of love for all things, even the most grotesque.

to mr. salinger: you played no small role in my dream-like wanderings through the city today, and i admit that the current tone of my prose is severely indebted to you. for some time now, i have come to accept that i am much more of a consumer than a creator, and have always had the habit of adopting the mannerisms of those around me, even as a child-- but please rely on the fact that my imitations are a sincere, if deft, form of flattery.