Tuesday, July 19, 2005

As I dumped the dregs of the soup into my bowl I pondered the very mealness of it, the heavy word meal, the what goes in my mouth. Meal, supper, dinner & repast.

Crossing Varick Street I spied a staircase through a glass door and it occurred to me how much I liked that, the sight of stairs through doors, especially if no one's on them.

B. ends each e-mail with a delirious, extravagant series of X's, obviously meant to indicate kisses but difficult to interpret as such. They rather give the impression of a madcap, broken border to her text; X's serrating the page where an ordinary salutation belongs. In fact she does not break her line before typing them; her message dissolves into ellipses then a line of crosses, and all they represent, like this......................xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx