witty-remark's Diaryland Diary

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My camera's been lying as still as Bob Barker's dick for the past while. I need batteries.

I like when boys flicker their lighter under my smoke for me because I'm too weak to spark it. And they cup their hands around the flames as though they're shielding a delicate bird.

And it's so nice to stroll carelessly down mossy paths with patches of sunlight penetrating the shade with a radiating defiance, as we bump into one another with our bodies then our minds while we discuss politics.

Birds sing and the brook nearby bubbles with a soft murmur competing for our attention. So we subside our conversation and look for smooth, worn rocks to feed the water.

9:44 p.m. - Tuesday, May. 19, 2009

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