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don’t let it be said that i’m finished with the good stuff. no. that’s not what should be said at all. only, when i’m done. that’s when. not now or ever until then. but once that triumphalist, etc., is past, then, well, yes.

don’t let me forget to mention the old woman who had sandals that were twice the size of her feet. a longish bit sticking out in back behind. and she shuffled in a formidably slow sort of way. (with those white white socks) and when that one sandal fell off, that boy with the long hair hesitated before picking it up with finger and thumb. and when he handed it back to her, she looked at it as though she had never seen it before in her life. then. she took it and held it. i can’t recall her putting it back on her feet. but. she must have.

or don’t let me forget to mention that rusted out girl, her hair purple, but turning hazy at the roots with some other color like gold or brown. and don’t let me forget to tell about those possibly rose and thorn tattoos curving around what could be seen of her breasts and chest and also don’t let me forget to mention that onion character tattoo on her inside left wrist that i didn’t notice until she reached up. it looked like a small death-in-life (not life-in-death, you tortles).

or and please don’t let me forget that purse-faced young woman with the hair that seemed to be weighing down, pulling itself back and down her head. oozing maybe. don’t let me forget, because it made me think of my own mouth and what it was doing and will it be stuck in some way all the time forever.

and o please o don’t let me forget that brainly befuddled man who once spoke to me for the longest time in a coffee shop about skiiing and who wears thick thick glasses and speaks through a molasses filter and i don’t think he understands anything i say and i wonder where’s the bottleneck? where’s the place where data’s holding up? what place is inside his brain that is like those spartans who fought in the narrow gap and won, outnumbered 5000 to 1? and he is such a womanizer because everytime some slightly attractive woman gets within his bespectacled range, he says hello and i think, man, this guy’s got more guts than i do… and i think that he doesn’t notice me (i didn’t notice him buried in my book at first, until he slurred his hello to that woman) but then he turns to me and he says, “i have to get that 4” and i think that i have no idea what he is talking about and but i wonder what and why and howtofore he flutters his hands like that, distressed. and then i see that #4 pulling away and realize that he had been more aware of surroundings than i had.

and and and don’t let me forget that spite that creeps into my voice on top of things and at the end of the day especially towards the last person in the world it should be creeping towards, you bastard!