archives for Thursday 9 August 2007
at the lavandería with the brujo
Thursday 9 August 2007 | I like a cookie
Washers are 39¢ on Tuesdays and Thursdays, dryers are 40¢ every day. The only Anglos in the place, we watched tiny girls and boys scampering around, spinning carts, trying to climb into dryers, while the B. and I did our laundry together for the first time. Silk goes in lingerie bags, is washed in cold [...]
read ‘at the lavandería with the brujo’
remembered another part
Thursday 9 August 2007 | I like a cookie
In which the Monk wants to leave me with something to remember him by—a sardonic “gift.” He holds up a bright blue silk cord, I’ll show you how to tie a knot that will never come undone, and reaches as if to wrap it around my neck. We’re surrounded by people somehow—maybe in the Greyhound [...]
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final nightmare
Thursday 9 August 2007 | someone left a cookie
The Brujo drives me, giddy with relief and with twelve-hour computer head, to Trader Joe’s for the mercilessly addictive ice cream bonbons, which are small slops of molten chocolate by the time we’re back in the car and I open the box, because we live in Tartarus. I email the 285-page document to its publisher [...]
