my knee is hurt from lifting stock.

i have an inch long cut on my middle finger.

i was cleaning my car and something slipped under my pointer finger on my other hand, making me bleed.

this and that and that and this.

and i got home, late, tonight.

it was raining and i sat in my car listening to prince sing about little red corvette.

pocket full of horses.

about all the pictures of the jockeys that had been before.

i stepped out of my car and saw a worm laying in the street, dead.

picked it up and put it in the grass.

emily is a cynic where i still have some hope in me. we've discussed this and she sees how me having hope for things and believing in people hurts.

i imagine having this kid and teaching him all these things.

holding doors opens and watching the way the trees move and picking up creatures on pavement and moving them to nature.

there's magic out there, i want to show them.

and i see and am with emily, who sees things as they are. cynical and disbelieving and scientifical.

but artistic. i listen to her continue in conversation over the fact that she's had pieces hung in clubs, in musuems, and pass on by it as if it were nothing.

i want to show her magic.