Wednesday, October 16

Outside the trailer - the waxing moon. Everything still and bright and cold. Distant noises, distinct ones. The subtle ways you know the difference between village and suburb. I try to smoke a cigarette, for some reason. I suppose I’m just playing a part here.

Inside I’ve made things comfortable. Drinking water, a space heater running almost constantly. Sleeping bags on the couch. A few candles, a couple of books, all my traveling stuff. My typewriter is on the table. I almost totally fail to use it, as much as I like the idea. Writing has almost died for me. It’s like a sexless marriage.

posted February 3, 2014

p1k3 / 2013 / 10 / 16