02.06.06 - 4:27 p.m.

last night i steered clear of the street. i walked on the far left of the sidewalk, legs brushing bushes and benches to stay on my path. my umbrella was a force field at my shoulder, but the scritch-scratch of its snap against the nylon stretched tight made me jump in the dark and wet of the ten-thirty outside and when cars shone their lights on my jacketed, belted back i gripped the U handle firmly. i wondered if it was a drizzling night like this but remembered then: summer, so probably not. warm and newly dark, purpley, maybe, with buggy air - gnats swarming at your mouth in the breeze off the bay. and you were hit and drug; what caught? your wristwatch, your bikes' fender, your foot? how quickly were you underneath and was there screaming? and when your consciousness went, were you still upright? did you pinch shut in a vice those big eyes and wait or did you ride along, gulping down everything you could set eyes, nose, ears on? what you should have exhaled into a face was wasted on asphalt, a strange car's undercarriage and when i'm walking down ellis at night, that is what i see when my eyes close to blink.

i'm still scared
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the project museum

the revolution will be catalogued

this american life

the library of congress

i used to believe







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