copout

nothing else to do and no where else to go; responsibility sends me on the bicycle, the primary vehicle of neglect. i shot a snot rocket on the asphalt. then i came home and ate some potato bread. it was yellow.

time to reconcile, now, with the books and their peering, leering eyes. my back is healing and my mind will follow. its course is due.

_____

later:
and i still have nothing more to say except that my brow is a little less sweaty now.