Ten.Two Thousand, Two Hundred & Seven
This low fog is a gift before the heat dumps in.
You don’t have to force it.
Both things can be true at once.
They sit down to eat bagels with cream cheese and watch X-Files.
These potatoes are really good: seasoned, and soft, and crunchy.
I forget that the bottle is sitting there and accidentally knock it off the chair. Green glass everywhere. The last little sludge of wine is deep, almost black against the dark slate tile.
No shade. The fronts of my legs are burning. I should have worn shorts. Maybe.
A few things about this: 1. These opponents are notorious for their poor sportsmanship. 2. It’s hot and that means it’s anger is easier to access.
But I would have wanted to punch him, too.
What is within my realm of influence?
