10/13/00

there’s a chemically smell present in our room. kim and i haven’t the slightest what it is, but incense, air fresheners, and sweaters pulled over noses haven’t worked in dispelling it, so we’ve got the windows open. a light breeze is coming in, making the blinds rustle slightly, like the sound of paper trailing across a surface. also making the soundtrack for four o’clock friday afternoon: impatient cars outside waiting for college kids heading off for the weekends, running awkwardly with arms bundled down by sleeping bags and weeks old laundry, leaving their toothbrushes behind in their haste; the big ben-esque clock at muse, mournfully striking the hour as to not let us forget that life is all too short, hurrying those leaving even more. they’ve probably forgotten to pack underwear, too.