Autumn

My cohort appears to be writing. He is tapping away on his phone making those faces he makes while he is thinking, at least. I am doing decidedly less than that. In between erasing messages that I shouldn’t be getting in an inbox that I don’t give a shit about, I am watching leaves and trash blow along the ground in the wavering autumn breeze. This much trash is rare for our little safe haven which immediately brings my mind to Paris. A place in which nothing is quite “safe” as safety is unnecessary and, moreover, undesired. Paris, where music…