Saturday, September 25, 2010


Our kitchen was gloomy. The table with the cloth, the chairs with the seats and the windows with the curtains. All flashing in brown. I was sitting on the counter next to the sink, holding a white whipper in my sticky hand. I used to eat the cream down from my fingers. It tasted much sweeter in that way - I didn't like the flavor of the spoon. I hate them both by now.



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