Magical morning. I sit with my eyes on fire, butt numb from the wood of this old bar stool. The image of the parkinglot outside is burning itself into my brain. i want to run. i want to burst out of the doors, flinging them open like its the last day of school, i would run and run and hit 88 miles per hour and in a flash i would be gone, with naught but a trail of fire and rubber in my path.
furbies and gloworms. bananas and satsumas. globies and furworms. batsumas and sananas. sanana batsuma.
am i hearing the gin blossoms? favorite band of 4th grade. by far. a longshot. by a dennis quaid. speaking of quaid. quatto. collections. i used to collect penguins. my grandma always had lots of collections, which seemed weird to me as a child. Her collection seemed to just be her collections. a collection a antique thimbles, another of woodcarvings of various animals. little glass figurines, . she loved trinkets, perhaps where my love of action figures comes from. i guess my grandma had more in common with my friend clint than i could ever imagine.