3:05. Break is over, but I won’t go back inside.
3:06. I’m late to everything – sometimes unseemly late.
Grass and short stories. The sun makes it warm out here, tranquilizing, for the first time this year.
A lady came to the front door yesterday. She wore a long white skirt and squatted on her chunky heels to talk to me. I was sitting on the front landing, reading, sunning myself. She handed me “Watch Tower” magazine. There was a photo of a blonde woman on the cover. She was holding her temples. It read, “Do you have enough time?” the crouching woman, cropped auburn hair, pointed out the article to me, but she said it looked like I had enough time.
3:07. I’m squeezing the minutes.
Cherry blossoms. Quail sometimes burst out of the tall grass (burnt whiskers) next to me. The range of hills opposite still has patches of snow. And if they ask, check the clocks, I’ll probably say something like, “But have you seen how nice it is outside?” And if I were a better person, I’d say, “I quit.”