Thursday, September 27, 2018

There was a party at a house up a long wooded driveway. I went up there and I saw it was Hells Angels, so I thought better of it and turned around. There was an interesting song playing though, something about getting your kicks, over four chords and a shaggy beat.

We’d bought a new home in Westchester somewhere. The apartment was still furnished with the seller’s things and I contemplated what to throw away, what to keep. Then there were other people there, visiting us. There were mannequin heads arrayed on top of the kitchen cabinets. The fridge was painted a dull pink.