Red cape, red hair. I don’t know what I’m doing, but what time is it mister wolf? has found me on a doorstep at two in the morning. There’s an engine running metaphorically behind me, I had to force myself to go to Oliver’s party, I had to force myself to leave. Ginger beer in a keg on the front lawn where we fell dreaming together. There was a woman asleep in the bed. Brown hair, I don’t know. I hope she’s less threatening.
Finally it’s not raining, the weather this week calling for cold sun and circles of wind. Leaves making doughnuts in parking lots, perfumed drunk little devils throwing a thousand colours at the air and attacking my ankles with damp. The soft unbiting scent of alcoholism floating across the mulch and exhaust of the city. I like the fall, it’s not as unrelenting as the other seasons, it allows for mercury. Silver shining from puddles, from the sky, spitting on water to make it wet.
I let someone kiss me this week. I don’t know why yet. I’m wary.