The Wednesday Headache

I spent all fucking day pouring change into the meter outside the paper. In the 4 p.m. hour, I let it go — that's the hour that cunt drops by to drop off the ticket. They can lock me up before I'll pay annieya those fuckers! (They just might, I know.)

You ever notice your own shadow? Noticing that this thing around you and accepting it as an individual would be analogous to my newspaper's editors noticing me as an individual. I've grown to like this: I'll slip in, out, and read with peace & quiet. Still, actually being liked'd be nice.

... and the buttons reconfigure to: control, alternate and delete. Noun phrases begin to shake and collide within their clauses, smashing adverbials, piles of coffee, drunk shoplifters, quartertones, stem cells, "grey" matter and folios into all selves. The shutter wide open reveals an overexposed flash overhead, stinging eyes bent over homework ...

"He hands the camera back to her. Her heart swells.
'My baby,' she exclaims. Later, he catches her hugging it secretly.
'Understandable,' he thinks. She's too good to've let him hold her baby for as long as he did. If only he could photo her generosity ...
He types it later."