there is an indian restaurant near the airport i think

we stand on the train. there are seats. there aren't two seats together.

we can't agree on anything without talking out loud. facial expressions do not work.

we have bags. i have a bag at my feet. i am holding it with my legs i think.

we don't say anything. grace moves around. we are by the doors. she is holding onto a pole.

everyone is quiet. i take the train back alone.

i walk around. everything is closed. i feel good, it's nice, i don't know what to do.

i close the door to my apartment. i open a book in bed. i close the shower curtain.

i open my computer. i close the refrigerator door. i open a bottle of mango juice.

i close the blinds. i open the blinds. i close my eyes. i open my eyes. i close the blinds.

i open gmail. i look at emails. i talk to grace on the phone. i can't think of what to say.

i look at emails and hold the phone. grace sounds far away, she is, i tell her, she says it makes sense, i laugh, she doesn't laugh, it's okay.

i walk to the post office and buy a newspaper. if i go home i will watch a movie and eat.

i will email grace, i will read and fall asleep and do work on the computer and send emails and get money from paypal partly for the emails and want to spend the money on expensive juice and mineral water.

i pay for postage and put postage on envelopes. i think about walking to the library.

i think 'i don't want to edit papers for ten dollars a page or for ten dollars an hour.'

i think 'this is obviously not enough money.' at home it is too early to go to sleep.

i close the blinds. i open the newspaper. i close the newspaper.

i fall asleep, i wake up, i feel hot, it's night, i might be sick, it doesn't matter.