Things, of course, are jumbled. The crickets are singing (or is it calling, chirping? what is it that crickets do?) The housemate is listening to the Smiths and talking.
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Ah, the melodrama. The sweet and melancholic depression of a tragic heroine. I am revelling in the adolescent sweetness of it all.
Walked Pogonip with the Contessa. We tell stories. Stories of our petty/oh so important dramas du jour. The views were sweeping, except Monterey was gone in a haze. I wonder, is it there if you can't see it? Was it out for lunch? Can a peninsula just up and leave? Can your turn your heart off while it breaks? Do you miss me as much as I miss you?
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