a_story_by_underscore_in_parentheses (_) "Fuck fuck fuck fuck!" Anna is not having a good day, especially now. She is no longer a good friend of the floor, with its patterned linoleom glare in her eyes now too. The floor is being mean and spiteful. She hates it, perhaps even more than she dislikes gravity. Although, if there were one, gravity could go to hell. To join me, she thinks. After all, let's lay blame at the right feet; namely, the ugly, misshapen ones that start when Anna's ankles end. Why did she have to fall? Damn you, Anna! [to be continued . . . ] 060606 ... (_) [or possibly not . . . i can't stand having only first drafts of stories/poems blathed] 060606 what's it to you? who go blather from