Forty Things

The weather here in Minneapolis is hotter than freshly toasted toaster pastries. Are you in Minneapolis right now? Then you know what I’m talking about. I walk to the bus at 7:05 in the morning and by the fourth block I feel like I’ve been lightly misted with a squirt bottle.

It’s even muggier than Orlando, and the apartment is even less air conditioned, and everyone I knew there is far away. Toward the end of my time there I wrote poetry at a theater festival, and one night, well after midnight, I tried and failed to ride the bus home. It just never showed up, and I cursed it quietly and walked home and was escorted part of the way over Mills Avenue by a loud person on a bicycle. I wrote about the walk home, and the essay is up at Otis Nebula. You should go check it out, if only for the wonderful photo I took for the bio page.

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