I make my way with dual purposes seldom aware of one of them through offices and conversations reading and typing pushing through thick branches to get to the other side or to an understanding of branches work work work I can’t stop always in the middle of something with a feeling I mimic something I would do for the love of it when I leave the building over twelve hours after I arrived the last orange curtain above the hills matches the lights of the neighboring office building and I am intrigued by a smell like an orchard in the dark where the spirit of something rotting rises like a ghost
6 July 1988