Saturday, November 8, 2014
The sun over the rail-road tracks is a shiny dot. Heating up the air through the cooler weather we've had the past few days. A small relief now gone.
I'm out back in the warehouse receiving a large shipment of light fixtures. Load on, load off. In and out, in and out. The flow of product, the flow of money, everything is a flow of something, of love...of blood, of life.
The past isn't real. I warn myself to be careful of how treat memories. I squint through the sunlight it forces me to think of her, the time we spent at that old beach cottage. How it rained for two days and for two days all we did was have sex and watch cable on TV . Everything wet. When the clouds clear she is back from shore. She comes back shiny. She is sticky, salt-sticky, sex-sticky, too-much-sun-sticky.