looping tender_square the fractured skulls of pumpkins litter a thicket of teenage white birch, and black squirrel moves dazed between the carnage. planes paint a pointed star of streaked jet fuel on morning’s canvas. mulberry trees spit pits of peach petals that gather in ravines down the center of the asphalt. the soccer fields are empty save for five geese. i can’t stop thinking about how i have no idea what i’m doing, the question deepening with each lap of the test track. i pass an older man with an impressive moustache for a second time; he’s led by a pair of norwich terriers content to sniff their surroundings. “around and around we go,” he says. “at least we don’t get lost that way,” he gifts me a large grin. “that’s what i like about it,” i joke, struck by the unguarded truth of it. 221104 what's it to you? who go blather from