I have never pounded on a door. I have sat half way up the stairs to the landing of an apartment. The little stones pressed into the hand I sat on. I examined the skin on my knee and tried to work out plans for the morning.
Friday, March 21, 2014
It was a list.
Names of friends and coworkers. Distances from that stair case. The availability of a couch or floor.
I had developed an ability to create long detailed lists internally and never cross any of the entries of.
Occasionally I flick a cigarette that's not there. And it reminds me I eventually learned to make less lists. And to cross things off.