from last year, march 5th.

read this while listening to broken social scene - swimmers.

Summer is connotated by the quality of light shining from: corner delis -----> the street, light pouring outwards to the warm humid darkness, the outdoors as warm as the body, sheets washed again after a still sweaty sleep with a sky still gray and the television indoors, somewhere, dropping static on a wooden floor. The imagined sound of someone in an apartment, folding thin sheets and hearing the sound of cotton against cotton, whispers of pages turning through fingers.

Outside your building door: the smell of someone's cooking, the aberrant noises of pans against metal, a warm timbre of necessary and matter-of-fact movement, sounding out like small bells tolling in the charm of a requisite domesticity. Cooking, cleaning, washing. Someone's closing doors and cabinets, illustrating movement, humanity, decision. Here, another reminder of someone else autonomous. Chairs scraping against the floor, being pulled up in preparation for a meal. Is the television on? Of course. Some sirens for some house. Out of the corner of your eye, the red changes to green, a box shifts noisily.

The questions tonight are: when are you coming home? Which chapter will you open to? What questions are on your mind tonight? After the evening passes and full-fledged night comes on, you sleep thinking about the book you have just savored and the questions you kept on meaning to think about. Sleep comes on heavily, even though in the middle of the night the air conditioner may suddenly decide to turn itself on, then off, like a short attempt at conversation. While sleeping, you toss the blankets off. The sun will start rising in a few hours. Your eyelids are closed and necessarily precious.