repeating his generous smile (over and over) and he is so reminiscent of my grandfather clock-- staring at me all night. smiling and starling [starling: verb- staring at someone as if they were a starlette or marilyn monroe]. i can't help but be proud and want to touch my calf with my other foot's toe... or touch my neck while pumping gas, because i know this man is multiple. i know this man is men and i see men everywhere.

i am on guard.

brad is a 23 year old man who came into my shop last night and he got a really great nihil ex nihillo tattoo (nothing out of nothing) and he left his small black journal with strings tied onto it with me so i could show the artist his design. i was sitting outside smoking, and i was wondering. i was wondering the inside. i was on guard.

i slowly cracked the book open and read through his slightly acid-trip like experience through what seemed to be an art museum. he was writing, and i was reading, and before i knew it, i had copied the whole thing and he had arrived again.

i wonder if he knows what i did.

his friend's voice sounded very familiar. too familiar. i told him to stop talking. t w i c e.