“All of this puts me in the bell jar but only if it were disco-ball mirrored with broken pieces and the sun caught it in that right way and set everything around me on fire, and then I got set on fire, and it was all on fire, except instead of melting I just evaporated, slow, like so many weed shotguns, up and away, like that. Do you think everything is the worst, but also, that nothing really matters? Probs not; probs you are not under a delicate bell jar in the woods. OK so just remember this for me, as if I’d scratched it so lightly onto your arm, on your leg, wove it into your tangled hair.”
Au Voleur!
...and then she woke up (in Baltimore)
