Friday, June 02, 2006

Lightning blinked beyond the kitchen window. Home at last.

I walked a balance beam of asphalt across a puddle on the treed and tessellated sidewalk by the Park. Fifth and oh, 108th or so.

Fire engines were parked before the hospital, silent. Flashing.

Her theory was: Every man becomes my stalker. And it was nearly self-fulfilling.

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