Sunday, November 22, 2020

The boxes from Amazon were piling up at our door. I was trying to balance working at my desk with stepping outside to cut them open, remove the contents, break them down. Then my desk was on a sidewalk. I was drinking—a rocks glass with whiskey or something, and a shot glass with something else. It struck me as a bit reckless to drink while working like this, but there seemed to be a good reason, like these were stressful times. I worried that a passerby would drop something toxic in the drinks.

Thursday, November 19, 2020

P. L. was playing some dark indie-rock song, by himself on a labyrinthine indoor stage. Later I discovered that my guitar was severed where the neck meets the body. I pulled it out of the gig bag in two pieces and examined the fissure, wondering if there might be some way to glue it.