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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