I’m sitting in Davis facing the big windows; the sun comes in rushing slants that illuminate the pit, and then steal the light, and then illuminate it again. side night: when facing the window, there is nothing, nothing, nothing hotter than a boy who hops off his fixed-gear bike off to one side of the window and then comes to the other window, pausing by it to browse the used book sale.

that sale is where I just purchased A Very Young Dancer, a book—you guessed it!—of dancing pictures. this is why I am poor; because I see a book of ballerina pictures from 1976 and I think, “of course I need this. this is what my bookshelf has been missing. duh.” and then I buy it and, sitting here, I know that I’m going to walk outside and buy an herb cookbook. because that’s just necessary.

ps: just for you, jessica dell springer. the failed picture-a-day is back.

“everything want to be loved. us sing and dance, make faces and give flower bouquets, trying to be loved. you ever notice the that trees do everything to git attention, except walk?” —alice walker, the color purple