Wednesday, September 24, 2003

It feels as though her house is just made of pieces of colour tied in shadow ribbons. Kat and I sit outside. She talks about Andy. I trace names in the dirt. She lists the people she’d lay down in traffic for.

We put our fingers over Natalie’s mouth. She looks so tired, and she’s in love with us all, tonight.

(Somewhere else. I say, crazy. And she says, crazy is never good. This is what I think when I should be talking to Kat)