Why these jock jams stuck in my head: where’s your head at?

He walked home from the nude beach following the railroad tracks that lead to his house. No longer in use, and pleasantly overgrown with the sun reflecting off them in spots that had mysteriously stayed corrosion free. A man walked towards him. “Hi,” he said. “Go to hell,” the man replied without a hint of irony.

“I can’t deal with having to look at somebody with a hole in their throat,” she said, casually lighting a cigarette.

The universe just sent me a message, a warning in the form of a minor disaster. Pay attention. Pay attention. Pay attention.

The computer guy sits in the corner of the table ignoring the meeting and hammering loudly at the keys of his laptop.

Walking down Broadway into a strong head wind, the kind of head wind that you have to lean in to. Suddenly the wind drops and am I sucked into the space behind it. Inside my favorite coffee shop nothing has changed. I have been gone six weeks and still the same people are behind the counter. I like this consistency and I order a cappuccino and a carrot, walnut and ginger muffin.