Saturday, February 12, 2011

internal monologues at tea time

Why is it that when you are outside with cold clogging your lungs the air is flat and unperfumed, but soon as you are trapped indoors, the faintest invading breeze is so evocative.

In the instant before the garage door closed, I caught a puff of air. Writhing in my nostrils, it smelled like sledding.

False advertising.

And I need to stop thinking in blog posts. It's giving the life imitating art theory an unfair advantage.

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