Red Maples

Some of the trees are very beautiful. The large maples are red on the outside but yellow in the center. They also have the habit of losing their leaves all at once, often a single day. It makes for a lovely display on the pavement that vehicles rooster-tail through. Cleaned up and went into town for lunch with Sara. We took a booth and caught up on particulars. Easy conversation. We've always had easy conversation. She paid and I got the leftovers. She'd forgotten her cigs, so we went back over to their apartment and had a couple of smokes, out on their smoking terrace, continued the conversation. I went back to the pub, to pee, got into another talk, then had a cig with Loren, out behind the pub, and finally headed home. I hate fucking comparisons, I could be part of that. I agree with Patsy Sims, that we have to be absolutely accurate, but I'm unsure what that is, exactly. I'm truthful, for the most part, you can take me to the bank. It could be argued, that when I lie, I only do it to bring truth under control. Just one of many arguments. I think of it as more of the Southern story telling technique. A camp fire, Bud Light from the cooler, some pulled pork. I went as far as the edge of the map, we could argue about flat surfaces, that we were completely naive goes without saying, but I was tickled when Kim told me that his GPS couldn't find me. Wearing the aluminum-foil hat is working. The county mowed the verges one last time, chopping up fast-food trash in the banks of shredded leaves. On the way back home I stop and bag the garbage. You could insulate a house with foam cups. Seriously. I spend several hours thinking about a dwelling I could build from trash. The outer layer would be fused plastic dolls, a cupola of soccer balls, split, and overlapping. An onion dome. It would be garish, at first, but then covered with dust and leaves. The irony here is that I could build anything, now, but that I choose to build nothing. I'm done with it, all the compromise and attachment.