forget_where_they_were crOwl rain is falling and it sounds like someone typing, words being formed on the soggy grass where snow once sat and then melted, an eighth of an inch at a time, like the boards we had to measure, our bodies getting soaked, boards we had to measure and one day replace before our porch falls apart. it could fall apart while we're in california we think so we measure, even while we're somewhat mad at each other, but not really. and the rain doesn't care. it just falls on us and soaks us and our dog keeps barking, wondering why we won't throw him the frisbee. and i think of pounding nails and painting and saving our porch, knowing it was done when i'm on the train and we are arriving in chicago. i will think the porch is saved. and i can take a taxi to wicker park with that comfort. i can get back on the train then, knowing that when i get back home ten days later my porch will be standing. 050209 what's it to you? who go blather from