2011 memories

I leave a small gold coin in the stomach cavity of a carved wooden bull. Later, this brings me luck.

I am in Virginia working on a defense contract, being driven back to my airport hotel in a friend’s luxury sports car. On the steps of a boarded-up church, a Mennonite girl in a white bonnet cries into her hands. She looks up as we pass, although not at us.

In a store in Beverly Hills, a man in a tailored suit puts on cotton gloves and lays out an assortment of pens for me. One of them has a fingerprint on its resin barrel. He apologizes the way I would if I hit someone with my car.

I shovel the first measure of earth onto our cat, who is lying in her grave.

I am backstage at a television studio, talking to an old man who appeared on one of my favorite sitcoms. I met the star of that show once, I say. He cordially changes the subject.

Wake up before my girlfriend for the first time and stare at her profile. Her breathing is inaudible. Alabaster, I think, pleased, and go back to sleep.

Wake up in agony. Run inside and start vomiting. Incredible pain in my lower left flank. Being born is a misfortune, I think. Later recant.

haaaaapy new year