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The Last Day of July
I've been searching for a word to repeat late into the night, until the sun rises on the little raised wooden platformer beneath my window that I like to sit at in the morning. There are little slots you can lift to access the space beneath, which always seems mysterious to me. There's not really anything interesting inside them though -- just bed sheets.
Here's a blurry picture I took of my metronome on that wooden platform. Unfortunately it doesn't help very much with imagining what it looks like.
Since I live on the 30th floor, I don't really feel like I belong to the human world when I'm at home. It's all beneath me. Here's a picture of West Yanan Rd, as seen from my window.
This highway dominates my thoughts. I hardly ever find myself in a car driving down it, but so much of my life has spent walking along the road that goes beneath it, or waiting at one of the many bus stops at its center for the 71 bus -- the most exciting of bus routes, since there's a lady in a fancy uniform whose job is holding a flag out the window and announcing the stops.
Essays:Contact me at saddleblasters [at] gmail [etc]
