Wanderlust

moseswilbur — Thu, 01 Sep 2011 08:34:00 +0000

Her feet are starting to hurt so we pick a spot just off the main drag, this crumbled staircase in a deserted parking lot behind the Harvester, where we can sit and talk.

“You know something, Henry?” she says.

“What?” I say.

“You’re a piece of shit.”

“Oh.”

It’s near dark, and the sky looks like cotton candy. I watch as she gathers up a bunch of her hair. She twists a knot in the back, then slips a pencil through. She has a pretty face and a tight body on her. But she can be a real bitch sometimes.

“And don’t go blowing it out of proportion,” she says.

“Please,” I say.

The next thing I know I’m up and kicking over a scaffold that’s in the corner by the fire escape.

moseswilbur — Thu, 01 Sep 2011 08:29:11 +0000

And don’t read too much into it.
It’s not as if they would be coming back
and don’t ask me what for.
I hate it when people try to figure you out.
Because why does anybody do anything?
Just leave it alone.
Anyway, she looked
a little under the weather.

(m)ore soon.

moseswilbur — Sat, 18 Dec 2010 06:28:46 +0000

View:

JohnnyInkslinger & Ramshackle (@ 3:20)

moseswilbur — Wed, 23 Jun 2010 10:43:45 +0000

UNDER (DE)CONSTRUCTION