Daily2 – Sept0214

‘The words I thought of earlier were better,’ I think as I sit here on a cloying night with a bowl of soup. One of those insects whose blood only moves in the summer is clicking outside. Just this side of arrhythmic he claps on the ‘and,’ but definitely four-four. No waltz meter for the six-leggers. Ironic.

The soup was as advertised. The chorizo was spicy. Sabroso, no sòlo caliente. The heat is fading from my mouth already. Fading like I want to. Meld into the quiet night.

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