Jul 7 2011 12:50 pm


Hot day. Mud banks. Mosquitoes. The sand slowly washes away in the funny little eddies around your feet until it all goes and you stumble forward a bit.

Mark’s chairs. Well traveled. Nebraska. He claims. Hunted ducks on ‘em and now he insists I sit on one on the grassy bank but I refuse because I don’t want to have any responsibility for carrying them back to the car. Not that he’d make me, but I still feel pangs of obligation. And I don’t need no damn chair anyway.

Floating down the river on a moonless night. Clear skies. Every star in the universe and the milky way is right there and you can poke a hole in it if you wanted. Perfectly quiet until two raccoons start fighting on the bank. I like to tell people they’re monkeys.

I’m like a bulldog in a Chinese restaurant: fuckin’ up some egg rolls, breaking all the tea cups.


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