Thursday, July 22, 2010
The sunshine. Waving. Pointing at someone who let’s you have the right of way. Poetry. Vacuumed carpets. Cameras. Vegetables. The fucking wind. Poultry. Vanity. Walt Disney. Napkins. Sandals that fit. Tennis. The Earth. Graveyards. Backyards. Phone calls. Neighbors. Sushi. Mr. Rodgers. Fences. Sprinklers. Sound. Immigrants. New York City. Five speed cars. Parents. Parenting. Hard, rip roaring sex. Microphones. Bridges. Silverware. The Q train. Clothing with numbers on it. Bubbles. Un padded bras. New feelings. Morgan Freeman. Thesis statements. Arguments. Padded bras. Sundresses. Channel 7. Bloody Mary’s. Steve. Narcissism. Jake. Chocolate. Movie stubs. BBQ. Waves. Long distance. Gin. The sound a zipper makes. Wine. Phone Chargers. Sunday Television. The Wizard of Oz. Justin Timberlake. Knapsacks. Sausage. The #2 meal at MacDonald’s. Sauce. Underwear. Shoulders. Whole grain bread. High fives. Bank cards. Cotton. Nostalgia. Boats. Hand jobs. Bud Light. The Lower East Side. Furniture. Coasters. Spanish bitches. Led Zeppelin. Parking Lots. Cobble stone. The Goonies. Under the sheets, slow motion, love making. Coloring books. Batman. Steve Martin. Leather. Israel. KY Jelly. Bill Cosby. Mugs. A Philips head screw driver. Chalk. Sweaters. Scotch. Cheese. Sponges. French Kissing. Pencils. Skateboards. Laughter. Blankets. Block parties. Lobster. Denim. Chris Farley. Phones. Ice cream. Kids.