new year's eve. i have slept on a love seat with my feet up and my head down and allergy medication so my head is full of blood and rain and driving roads. i dream i write a brilliant story but upon waking i only remember the words "white" "crayon" and "sky" from the final sentence. half-way through the night i awake and feel the light warm weight of the smallest cat, abby, against my leg. i stroke her, she purrs, then jumps to the air mattress where jamie is sleeping and apparently punctures it with her tiny claws because in the morning it is falling shapeless. hunger in my stomach. we have slept two 6-hour pieces. down comforters seem to warm your blood – you are safe in the cold for a certain amount of time with the feel of its warmth still.
viking trails and swashbuckling paths.
we watch the cat for at least half an hour.

jonathan is incredibly welcoming and is drinking coffee and eating a bagel, says he loves smoothies and his face reminds me slightly of vincent gallo's. lettuce grows in the garden. he tells us about an old woman who stole all of his tomatoes. chocolates on our pillows, an idea of his girlfriend's. we eat gourmet pizzas a few blocks from the house with thin crusts and we drink a pitcher of water.
jamie burns candles. i hang up coats in the closet and wish i was staying for more than one month. different colored walls in each room. mine are olive.

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