Monday, April 13, 2009

RE:

Stan,
No. Not in Spain. Although it is a possibility and I am looking into it. I did, however, just recently emerge from the woods, from sleeping on the ground, gathering wood, staring at the fire, cooking whole chickens on a spit, turning the spit slowly, so slowly, watching the fat drip not down into the flames but constantly turning in its bead with the chicken, circling the flesh, never releasing its hold, like the same way satellites are always falling but with gravity and the earth moving they are not falling, they are circling.
Haven't seen you in some time, Stanley. I feel bad because when we last played phone tag it was because I needed something translated, not because I wanted to play Apples to Apples or drink wine and sit on your back porch and stare at rusty bikes. Which is really what I'd like to do. Sit on your back porch and drink wine. Stare at your rusty bikes. Your overgrown garden. Your half-collapsed badmitton court.
Nos vemos, guero. Nos vemos.
Ryan

1 Comments:

Blogger ||| said...

"Oh, Stanley," Ryan said, "we could have had such a damned good time together."

Two rusty bikes leaned against the house. In the yard, an overgrown garden marched on the half-collapsed badmitton court.

"Yes," Stanley said. "Isn't it pretty to think so?"

20/4/09 2:33 PM  

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