Quoting and Unquoting.

He wouldn’t ask me what I thought of it but I wanted to say it to him like a novice, like a crazed-up misplaced, messed up hippie chick that the photographs of the leaves and the green that enveloped the frame reminded me of headaches-turbulent on the inside but so tranquil and unperturbed, outside. That the piano music was all wrong-the right wall should have Jon Brion’s theme song for Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and the left should have Profokiev’s Romeo and Juliet. But he wouldn’t look up or even see me move around all alone, waltzing with his psychedelic flowers pictures.

Artists disappoint me, especially the ones who do amazing work. They make my head spin.

So I lay down on the cool of the glass top when they played Happy Birthday for a well-passed middle aged woman in a restaurant full of Saturday night out-ties and closing my eyes I felt everything melt and loose levity.

‘The days are bright and filled with pain; enclose me in your gentle rain…’

I look at her in her pink shirt and dark pants, a blood red shade of lipstick encircling her plump lips and think of September and Art Tatum

“Then one day you look into the mirror and realize something’s missing...

your future.”

How he makes me laugh.