I go to the gym to watch the O.C., resenting, of course, the full stop in that name forcing my sentences to an untimely end but if I think it I don't show it.
Nor do my other Sisters of the Stairmaster, leaning forward at the shoulders although it must be bad for the rotator cuffs, headphones stuffed into their ears
mostly clean white iPod eAr bUds. I should know. I have the same.
Last night the girl next to me in the sweater of one of the colleges confessed she was just wasting time.
Oh Lord, how I loved her accent. I wanted to interrogate it to make a poem. But, like the buttresses of muscle in your arm (I can name most of them, and work the bigger ones into something rounder & harder) that skill softens if you don't use it.
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