And nothing gets done
So right, so clued-up
We just get old
And all the while
Been torn asunder
Nicotine
And bacteria
Today I had a lady come up to me and say:
I'm a stylist, and I just wanted to let you know that your outfit is wonderful. Very creative, like Alice In Wonderland."
It made my day.
On Thursday, on my way to the city-cat stop, I found a little wren shivering in the middle of the footpath.
I tried to pick it up; at first, it hopped around and fell forwards onto its face, but eventually I managed to scoop it up and wrap it in my scarf.
I ended up carrying it around with me for the next two hours- on the city-cat, where my go-card ran out of cash and a lovely lady lent me $1.90 so that I wouldn't get kicked off before my stop.
But then somehow I missed my stop anyway, and the little bird (which I thought was blind) opened its eyes and its beak wide at me.
By the time I got to the clinic, I could barely feel it breathing. I sat at the table, speaking to the little bird, hoping that it would help. It didn't. It's claws closed inside my scarf, its legs stiffened and its eyes shut half-closed.
I asked Foxcroft what to do with it: he told me to throw it into the bin. I burst into tears.
The feather that broke the wall in my dissociation.
Also: best evidence of a good night is bad-ass bruises.
Set some sambuca on fire, have an hour's sleep, get up and go the next morning. No hangover, just a completely shattered individual on the inside.
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