brring_brriing cr0wl she lives alone in her brick house where the road bends like a black snake and she walks past her dying grass under the aged crabapple tree whose blossoms are almost gone to where i work alone, spreading mulch, listening to a bad interview with m.ward. she's autistic i've been told, so i guess that's why she talks like she's twelve, but she's really older than me and after every sentence she speaks she makes a noise like a bell on a bicycle, but much quieter as if she can't help but release it like she's not real, perhaps a toy person. the bizarre sound is accompanied by a slight movement of her feet that could be called a dance i guess. i enjoyed listening to her so much that i couldn't hold in my happiness. it leaked out of me as if my mouth was broken and couldn't hold it in, so there i was just smiling like a fool while she spoke in cliches she didn't realize she was uttering. i think she would have stayed forever if i hadn't turned away and started digging. 090423 what's it to you? who go blather from