2003-11-02 - 1:09 a.m.
Sweet, liquid night, black that shades my dreams and winks at me, too. Morningtime boxershorts, coffee in mugs, smokes on the fire escape that no one can see. Barefoot-walkarounds, shag carpet bliss. Old answering machine tape that blurs voices in the same spot every time. `Taps' at the service last week. Rainy October Monday. Three-gun salute. Walking in the grass, looking for the stone. My dad's voice like I've never heard it before. Seeing my breath.
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