ever dumbening glass noodles, egg rolls, cilantro and mint--aha! with fish sauce, no less. i watch the limb scars of a strong maple slowly ascending the trunk.

she sits alone in one restaurant while i sit alone in another. i imagine she too knows of the encroaching lines of sand: of the ocean from the west, of the desert from the northeast. the dunes march forward and surround with a stinging security.

i cannot but surrender.
what's it to you?
who go