the_music_of_things raze there are mountains in this mall. not the kind you can climb. the kind that sing to you. first, a frantic video voice recording. then a man whose throat makes clear his fear and lets me form the image of his face. we should slap some change down on the counter to confuse the greasy-haired guy who works at the record store. we should dance more than we allow ourselves to. we should do so many things. at a table near a door, we talk while one of your songs seeps through wire-fed cones my eyes can't find. you clear your throat to count it in. nameless numbers fall in line. you hand me a tupperware container with a prize inside. baked goods and a card with glitter on the front. i want to tell you what a gift it's been to get to know you, but i'm wearing too many shirts to feel like myself, and your cupcakes and cookies are calling my name. 250623 what's it to you? who go blather from