These sunday, sunny blowsy early mornings belong to joggers and people like me, the dirty black-eyed torn-skirt sort, wandering home from a party. I took pictures of the sky in the puddles and wondered about how to change things now.

Feeling: empty, sort-of half dying, sleepy
Listening to: the buzzing in my ears woken up by a slap this morning
Pretending: it won't be difficult

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