Niemand Gibt Uns Eine Chance

Automat, Edward Hopper, 1927

It gets dark at 1930. I can't get out of bed until 1300. I can't sleep until 0400. The rain is heavy and constant. The air is warm and stifling. I'm as comfortable as being stuck on a plane again.

The strong winds last night have blown the first dead leaves from the trees that line the streets on this side of town. It's a Thursday and I hate Thursdays. On said day the bins are collected. Every Thursday I walk down the street and immediately know from the multitude of bins that another week has come and gone. It's like having an odometer counting the days of your life, ticking over in the most noticeable but uneventful way. I sit in the dark and listen to the wordless cries drifting through Subterraneans (Low, 1977).

On a different note, anyone else find Anousheh Ansari attractive? I think the pigtails do it for me. That she, like every other woman I've found attractive, is older than me is totally coincidental and in no way reflects any perceived preference on my part.

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