ping one wrecked angle my hands pull the thin plastic bottles from back to front, a nice façade. their skins, swollen with carbonation, collide and ring out, bright, like a well-toned european bell tower. ping tong ting. hills rolls by, air damp with dew and pine and diesel fuel. a tightness in the skin around my skull makes me wonder where the wrong is, but it's not for me to know. 030919 ... shilohlives pong 040513 ... c r 0 w l yellow i see yellow, but not light. i see yellow paint, as if a cartoon duck has a story written about it by a man who loved innocence. 080206 ... Set ... 120815 what's it to you? who go blather from