Nostalgia Is Consumptive and I'm Coughing Up Blood
If I had the powers of mind to sit in the dark with headphones on, I would listen to Pornography on auto-repeat. Thanks for the suggestion, Kim. I'll always remember when I first went to your place in Vallejo and found the vinyl on your makeshift shelving. The original American edition of Boys Don't Cry may have been more impressive, but it wouldn't have meant much without the bookend of Pornography. As I recall, you played the latter when Keith came up for a visit, that night that culminated in your feet-moving-too-fast-to-touch-the-ground frenzy dancing to X. "The phone's off the hook, but you're not."I almost felt the urge to walk up to Val's for a flask of trouble just now. I miss the way the fog blows over the streetlight at the corner of Georgia and Napa. I miss the refreshment of the bedroom window, propped up with a book we periodically have to dig out of the bushes below. I miss Tibbs. And I miss you, more than words can possibly show.
