walking outside is much like walking around in a fresh cup of tea. i think my lymph nodes are swelling with the exposure to 99% humidity; i am miserable and teetering on passing out. the moisture level of my body is exactly the same as the surrounding air and this makes me suspended in slow motion as the backs of my knees slip with moisture.

People lay sprawled, five points of their body; starfish baking in the sun being prepared for sale, in Bidwell park. Often, i question the comfort of these people on bare grass: Harry has often urinated all over this park...what if i told him that people all over the city had been marked by that little dribble? It doesn't matter. Harry is a dog, and he probably doesn't care.

squinting down each side of the park, the trees are pillars emerging from a green river, this is not Chicago and it is not St. Patricks day. I am Alice, through the looking glass; my head is so swollen with moisture, i can hear the sizzling of that man's chest and the gnats in her unwashed hair.

Olmstead, you sick bastard.