wake up.

A halo surrounds you, my dear.

"Goodbye Horses" under a black sky and glowing fluorescent windows. A bite in the air and glittering concrete.

The flush in our cheeks.

I listened to Pulp on the way home. It becomes almost like a drug, drifting into the music, twisting strands of hair around my fingers. I search for non-existent split ends, noticing the variation in tones, singing slightly in my head, and mouthing the words at you.

Major news this morning: I'm a winner.