Il fumo va dietro ai belli, y’all. Smoke always goes to the gorgeous. I poke the ground beef every time I go to the supermarket & it’s important to me. I love certain horror movies. I tell my nieces every moon we see is a new one. And the old ones get carted off to the moon dump where they shiver like ox skulls. That the polenta on their plates is a fallen, yellowed moon that landed with a SMACK! They eat chicken legs and go to bed. I cannot stop buying bud vases. When I put on the right moisturizer I feel very beautiful at times. Like I can stand to have someone look at me anywhere on my face. I buy daffodils ($3.95) and a calla lily ($7.50) from the florist. I care about getting a good deal. Emma says I only like songs by women “who sound like they’ve just woken up.” Well I like peach slabs and Fleur Jaeggy too. At dinner, when the fried pickle appetizer came cut into spears instead of discs, we were hooked. I believe I have finally found my frosted city & I will not come down from it. I would like to begin again as a like-minded object.