" how can you tell? "

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sunday.

the downstairs neighbor's voices echo in laughter which winds down the staircase and out the door; the jingle-jangle of keys follows tappy footsteps.

it's 3:00pm and the sun turns to overcast summerstorms. water comes down in a swift torrent, then dissipates into an overcast sky.

the day is passing by slow, and how can you tell if you're present amidst it all?

it's 6:23pm, and i realize we've run out of toilet paper in the apartment, and the light in the hallway just shuts off for an indeterminate amount of time.

i look in my planner and there's nothing written, so the day defaults to doing absolutely nothing, and making it up as i go along.

it's 9:06pm and there's shitty commercial club-hop emanating from the ride of two boys with horrible hairstylings.

teenagers on the street below talk about relationship problems and juvenile woes.

a plane is flying overhead. i hear the sound of the building's front door opening, ringing out from inside, and mirrored out on the street.

no one is coming to visit me today.

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