i verged on discombobulation at points, especially on the drive down, eavesdropping on the conversations of strangers and acquaintances, listening to a nine year old echo of myself in a mirror. it was odd, and i watched myself wander towards distraction.
there were a lot of pictures, some art, and
the gallery mingle smell of too much cologne;
some things are better left in bed.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
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