Tells me he likes this restaurant I’m not sure if it’s the food or the price, about a buck less than next door. The prior tenants owned the floor above and did something along the ridges.
I have to ask him what relationship the ridges have to why he may or may not like this restaurant, or how the arrangement of the ridges strengthens the dutch gable, or what’s the best option at this point, because I don’t see what restaurant he is talking about as we keep walking endlessly down empty unmarked streets.
Tells me he gets out of there often—every day until the sun goes down—then comes back here.
Here? What do you mean here? There’s nothing here at all. Footsteps and brick. Our two pairs of legs getting stubbed by 1790 road and rubble. “Vehicle sink to the hubs,” Roger N. Parks said. Is here home or is home home?
…and other things, just to pass the time during tread.
I see a lot of good kindling along the way. In this weather, I wish we were able to stop for rest and gather enough to burn; warm our bones and stall the sickness.
More about: Model Home, Nappy Nappa, Patrick Cain
