Rigidly
royal
Sans
I guess this has been some sort of penetration testing backed by a dictionary file, and not an Oulipo attempt to communicate, but it was still a nice little story. Steely morning, tall pines waving, dark. Thinking of seacliffs. No one’s on your frequency when you age backward.
Another little story: the summer I was nineteen, late, drunk in the grocery with my friend M., we bought a pair of handcuffs that came as part of some “Li’l Bandit” costume ensemble (in July? Why was it there?), and I wore the handcuffs all night, and at the end of the night composed a mass email in the person of Isaiah, crying out in the wilderness about how handcuffs didn’t help. Things had gotten so weird after that many years in outer space.
That was the summer I walked around humming Candy says / I’ve come to hate my body / And all that it requires, and honest to God I didn’t even know who the song was about.
