I just wrote a long piece that I can't bring myself to publish. Now I don't have time nor energy to pursue another piece. I'm flushing the one down the toilet and keeping this one short, like a Koan.
Walking through the forest,
I see no trees.
The girls went home.
Not really a koan in substance. It meets the metric requirements, though.
The name of the storage company is very clever. You can only keep small, compact things there, I guess. It was an unexpected find in the middle of cracker country. How many of their clients get it?
I am being silly. Micro-aggressive.
My down the toilet piece was partly about Ronan Farrow. What a mess. There are reasons why people do what they do.
I guess.
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