Dear Wigleaf,
 
This is our fourth postcard together over the years and I have to say that in previous times I have been better. I write you today from under the table in a livingroom section of a hotel. It is dusty and I got gum stuck in my hair and then cried. In other news, the air seems to be cooler down here which is good because I couldn't for the life of me figure out how to get the thermostat to turn off. Earlier, the man at the front desk asked me how come I get so many packages. I considered telling him that they were full of genie lamps but decided that the truth is always better, so I told him that they were full of books, which they are but it's not as annoying as you think because one time, the other night, I was walking up the stairs with an armful of these packages and tripped and fell and then spent ten minutes lying on the floor in the hallway with books all over the place. I have been spending a lot of time on the floor lately, come to think of it. This won't work in the way of helping me seduce the gentlemen, no. What the gentlemen like to hear are things such as perhaps we can smoke pot together. You say pot, the men come running. They think, she must listen to reggae in the kitchen while making cinnamon rolls and not wearing a shirt. Well I am here to tell you gentlemen that yes that is true, and yes it is a spectacular sight best viewed while the goddamn national anthem plays in your head in the background. I don't actually have any pot or smoke pot though it is legal in Massachusetts now. We could lie around and read together though. Perhaps it will be on a Sunday, perhaps I will have just had ten of our dearest friends over for a vegan brunch and our house will smell like cinnamon rolls. Perhaps now we will be full and warm and sit under a window and talk about where we'd like to be next year and if we think that it's actually true, any of it. Perhaps we will make earmuffs out of clean socks and laugh through sundown. Perhaps you will fall asleep and I will whisper things to you such as I am a livingroom with one of those old school fireplaces I am a wall of silent films I am a place to fall asleep I am waiting for you to come in and fill me.

K.I.R. Keep It Real We Like It Better When You Do Like Consider Being The Type Of Dude Who Like Leans One Shoulder Into Doorways You Know That Guy,

Nicolle






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Read NE's set, Four Stories.

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