Part One

I found myself wondering why you left your ugly plaid coat at my house. You know that I don't want it. And the stupid art pamphlet about your writing. I know that you wanted me to come to your reading, thats why you left the coat and thats why you left the leaflet in the pocket.

Hounds tooth, and I can't stop looking at it. I have to return it to you. But I need you to understand that I don't want your stuff in my house. I could call you, I could climb the mountain of stairs to your gritty, grimy, gross apartment and give you back the coat. All of the twelve eyes of your stoned roommates would be screeching their judgement upon me.

The last time we saw each other, the time you left the coat, your hair looked like it was time for a dye. I think that it's time for us to stop playing this game and get on with our lives. Lets make something of ourselves. How about it? I'll just go to your house. I'll ring your stupid bell and then who knows what? Every time that I've going before I've ended up staying too long, or just long enough.

I drifted on the empty 147 bus, picked up an old paper and read yesterdays news that was still new to me. I slipped off of the bus and sauntered to the far edge of town where the buses don't travel. Small joys I kept thinking. I've been trying to take time to appreciate the things that are little but bring us unrecognized happiness. Dogs barking (if you like dogs), birds singing (if the sound hasn't always driven you insane), other things like that.