Call a friend, let them know I'll be running late. I've been caught up at a bar with no AC, it's my third Tanqueray-cucumber. Maybe it's Sunday,
we listen to jazz, I write a note on a post-it, then lose it. We find it.
Good thing I didn't throw it away, accidentally. I wrote everything important on that one single post-it note. Like,
all the things I wanted to really say, or do, or go-to.
It's only noon, and I've already laughed one-hundred times, forget
my phone at home; it's time for Hemingway, instead. Alright, fine, maybe
do some yoga in an hour, maybe later,
How happy can one girl be
spending so much time taking such a long stroll?
Sunday or not, I'm daydream believing.
Photos by Scott Brasher