You Are Within Your Rights Not to Read This

I suppose that even when summer comes and things get hot and there are insects again, and birds are everywhere, that you can be miserable. But it's hard to maintain misery under these circumstances, all you have to smell the greenery in various stages of growth and decay. Moons in the summer take on a glow not unlike the lightbulbs in my spare bedroom, too dim to read by but bright enough to listen to music, especially "Flamenco Sketches" by miles davis and the tenor solo, maybe four minutes into the song, by John Coltrane that makes the grass and the leaves and your blood cells gravitate iin the air.



If there's a city to simultaneously love and be afraid of, its Washington DC and its uneasy truce between the politicos and the murderers, the just under the surface chaos pushing up against the stately embassies that line Massachussetts Avenue. There is a thick stench of fat tourists around the Mall, hording into museums and filling their fannypacks with souvenirs. A boy joked with his mother about how he gave a homeless guy a dollar to "buy some beer". His father proceeded to lecture him about how homeless people don't want to work, they are able to work, they are lazy and sucking the lifeblood out of our great nation. Jeans shorts, Oakley sunglasses, beer bellies, american flag shirts, and a coke. From the womb to this to death.