something occurred to me in the used bookstore earlier.
my used bookstore. my small little hole in the wall that i beg friends for rides to. the bookstore that smells like dust and filled with titles no one has heard of is so romantic.

maybe it was because i was listening to cat stevens. the next song on my 'me' mix tape was two stones in my pocket by, my current wonder-god, neil halstead.

all i could remind myself of is how happy i tend to be.

and then i ran into the owner who proceeded to hold a conversation with me.
i think he was just lonely.

after all, little girls in their own wonderland do not wax well on conversation

2002-12-13 - 2:40 p.m.
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