*(sitting here. in my favourite booth at the last supper club, watching the smoke from my cigarette drift through the residual sunshine, i smile. i am thinking of you.
i wonder what you are doing tight now, over there. washing dishes? doing laundry? planning dinner? i am sure i havent crossed your mind in twenty years, yet you are still fresh on my lips. you still linger on the tips of my cigarettes. you were part of my life when there were not enough hours in the day. so much to do.
and now here in darkland, with all the time in the world, my thoughts drift back to you. i close my eyes and slow dance with you again.)

tomorrow makes me laugh. what an excuse. tomorrow. your check is in the mail. god ate my homework. tomorrow.
tomorrow, i will start anew. i laugh so hard, i spill my drink. i will clean it up tomorrow.

the air is filled with fall leaves and the crackle and pop of vinyl records. slowly i sway in the breeze.