JANUARY 21, 1989
One hour has passed since I sat down to write. So far I've read, stared out the window, and played guitar. I really don't know a cure for this problem.
Sitting at my little table. Flowers in a broken blender. Wind pressing on the window. Rainwater soaking through the seal.
west on east 14th street
carmelita's reception house
NR to 28th street