In Process

Kim, I enter her room. The baby sleeps on her floor, in the corner, three or four tiles from the walls, in the exact breezeway between the jalousies of the windows. An uncanny nose for the coolest spots in the house, has that one.   Kim has not turned up the radio again, to spare

The Beatles were never my band. Throughout my childhood, I heard their music all the while, everywhere, but never really listened. They were just there, in the background. My aunt Emily listened to the Beatles all the time. She’d play “Michelle” over and over again, a scratched 45 rpm, on her old record player, in

If I could just get my room clean. I’d never step on change again. The minor disappointment with its value would be a thing of the past.   (This is definitely €2 5c… feet have awful spatial reasoning)   If I could just get my room clean then everything would sort itself out like novelty