First person/third person? Self awareness versus narration? Projection and tangible reality? Thoughts discussed over a Friday lunch at Hovan, in a March that has come like a lion.
Lisa, her hair bunched in a frazzled ponytail, at Waffle House, 2 in the morning, our waitress. Funny, fuzzy-visioned observations: lights that look like moons; a cat outside in the cold air (striped and gray) poking through dowdy shrubs; highways rushing past dotted with ruby bits of tail lights; the perfect circle of a girl's ass, cheeks slightly hanging out, in a stretchy skirt and towering heels; the velvet sky and trees like paper cutouts; a passenger window cold against my forehead. Jacksonville, I love you.
