The devil speed him! no man's pie is freed
From his ambitious finger.

By day:       Magenta, the sky to aviate. 7 o'clock illuminated on my mobile phone just as I had closed my eyes for the night's initial sleep. I woke, three hours later, aching from filth; my hair was greasy, my fingernails garnered ink and dirt, my skin had the balm of old coconut and sweat, and my muscles pounded from exertion. "I'll get something sweet to eat," I thought. Ergo I bartered the remaining mouthwatering hours of Sunday morning sleep for something with which I can actually satisfy my tongue. Hot shower with an open window. Asquith & Somerset soap. Squinted at the sun upon first step outdoors. My father said with a Bulgarian accent, "Our daughter has become a creature of the night..." This has been an ongoing joke since I first started falling into strange sleeping cycles at 14. Poppyseed bagel with butter and a Sobe Coolatta. I took small bites and chewed slowly, crossed legs, heavy eyes, humming in my head. I watched cars and the waddling walks of many a passerby. I know nothing about car models, but I can generally guess the 2 year vicinity of its creation based on the details. I made photograph prints; one for my father to hand colour, two for my mother, six for James. Lake and I went to lunch, ordered the same soup, different drinks. She's really the only one to find me so funny.

By night:       Two hour nap (dreamt of Metropolitan steps, friendly phantoms who cause the racket on my roof, kissing the fingertips of my precious in the French restaurant, and fighting. No less than four times I woke to glance the moving shadows outside my window. Peter Pan.)
cont'd