maireandhsi

it was i suppose while bathing. washing at the list on my hand. the list of tools i'd need, implements with which to complete my tasks. written as always in fade and water proof ink. thinking of the anomaly of humans. as opposed to an an opportunistic exploitation of some fatal flaw in the engineering of this particular type of ink. in essence, a case moreso of washing away my own marked particles. down the drain in a strange city. in a strange state. leading to an ocean i didn't know. all the trite cliches (greetings) regarding the slow death and the end blossomed into their full reality. leaving me mildly stunned and half-washed. i was immediately back on the street. ticking time took a piece.
confronted with a woman seated near the hydrant on the curb. heels in the crook of the road. the gutter.
she reached down and removed her license from her sock. the laminate still complete and unscathed. it looked nothing like her, of course. i learned the registry employee had requested she remove her ah. . corrective lenses. before taking the photo.
she had received her first negative examination and subsequent prescription, i believe, three days following may day when she was seven. and had been through so many since, that approaching the mirror resulted in very little. without glasses, naturally. and it occurred her all at once that every likeness in photograph was of her assisted self. and that she could scarcely place the gi portrait in her hand.
at least. these implications leaked from her confused expression. she was, after all, a complete stranger.

so how long? if we are the doctors of sense. trading in illusion. will we let all our selves wash down before we make them into the ones that exist in our respective minds? why am i wasting so.
it is unacceptable.