The wind is northwest. I am a car full of people. Red Subaru ‘n’ disclosed. Germs proliferate on air. I speak dutch for I am a chihuahua. When the time comes, I will be miles wasted, but I’ll still be standing in the same place.
When I arrive to Ivory Coast, two mulato men and a woman welcome me. They offer to clean my car. They clean me as a ghost. The woman has a blind eye. One of the men gets a seizure and I am reminded of jazz music. Regardless of my faith, the other man tells me, I am welcome here.
My faith is I have none and the music spins. It is an old vinyl player. There is coffee on the table. There is coughing too. It is quiet like a personal library.
I read short films and watch good stories. Just like old times, I can’t seem to make sense of anything. Feedback says I am a bore. I should have pushed you into the road. You ignored me! I was in front of you and you dared to look down. And a noisy train called locomotive gives reason to cherish the latest endeavors. Didn’t it occurred to you?
