no present like the time

There is a storm and the net brings in tangles of flotsum.
The captain begins to curse the intermittent fish, but soon moves on to cursing the sea, diesel in general, and his eye-doctor. He hates his eye-doctor, these are the regular customers of his moustrap anger, but today is an exceptional day of frustration and as an endboss, he begins to lay a sling of curses on private eyes. who thinks 'when i grow up i want to be a private eye' he asks between obscenities.  I do not answer; I have thought about it often. It is really raining and his mouth and the sky are a pair of storm-twins. This gale lasts until he stops to point at a hovering speck off our frothing stern. look at that bird he says, that's got to be a hard life.


Something breaks in the kitchen and,
acknowledging the ephemeral transition between existence and memory,
someone across the room asks: what was that.

We are in college,
Dylan gets into his bed saying I can't believe squinting works.
We both fall asleep thinking about this.

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