03/18/08
a pale skinny young man lying on a bed, spasmodically fucking a plastic bag full of turkey sausages and diarrhea. just out of view is a woman, laughing at him.


07/27/08 

we were staying at my old black grandmother's place in the city. we had 
been there five days already. she turned around slowly in her blue and 
white floral dress, slowly asking me if i wanted any breakfast. i'll 
just nibble at this blueberry muffin. then she got on about what we 
would have for lunch and i just couldn't stand the thought of more food, 
so I opened the fridge and started pointing out all the leftovers - 
chicken, broccoli, shishkebabs, a whole tupperware full of sushi, 
cornbread, cranberry jelly.

I was measuring the position of our homemade CMM's probe sphere for a 
routine calibration check. the old man was drilling me about the proper 
way to measure with depth calipers. "you gotta use a square to make sure 
it's perpendicular." "I know dammit, leave me alone." and I stormed out 
of the building.

My usual route - hop out the window onto the garage, then jump over to 
the shed, run and jump, grab a branch, swing and land on the platform 
jutting out the window - wouldn't work. The landing platform looked like 
it had been slam-dunked, two-by-four's splintered and drywall screws 
jutting out everywhere, blue hawaiian pattern cloth flapping in the 
breeze. I had to get to Jessica in time to warn her, Chris Smith was 
coming. I could just see her inside, headphones on and typing furiously. 
I looked around at the alternatives, a power line, an elm tree, a 
gutter, a minivan. Jump out the window, bounce off the sloped garage 
roof, bounce off the minivan, grab the elm branches and swing up to the 
window. It might have worked had Smith not shown up at the exact same 
time. We ended up in the branches, swinging chaotically in struggle, 
branches scratching against the white aluminum siding.