luggage raze i was sure i'd packed enough clean clothes to last me the weekend. i was wrong. my smirking stepfather watches me exhume an adolescent pair of underwear from a dresser drawer. they still fit. there's a thermal shirt on the floor. socks and pants piled up on my waterbed. shadowing the surface of the chest of drawers that stores the drapery that once covered me are the implements of my unease: canadian whisky in a bottle shaped like a jug of maple syrup and wine with the price tag still stuck to its face. anything that expensive has to be worth wasting a night with. i stash it in my suitcase, hoping the layers of flexible fabric that have been holding me will keep the glass flask from rupturing when everything else falls apart. 250502 what's it to you? who go blather from