When the prepositions were being handed out is it unsurprising that this one was used for ‘on time’ and ‘books on’. The word looks like a head squeezing out of a turtle-neck, kind of like the guy who was sitting near us while were on the couch. All the time we hoped he’d leave.

To be honest, I’d have said that we were still ‘at the couch’. It sounds wrong doesn’t it? Yet so right when you think about it, which is about all I can do. Think about these little words, their silvery sides always twisting away from me at the last moment and I’m there wet up to the elbows.

Yet, I fucking hate fishing.

You always said I analyzed things too much, that I could only enjoy things in the abstract. It’s just like me to refer to metaphorical fishing while avoiding bait and hooks and guts. We didn’t get on to that. Not yet. I can’t remember what we talked about. Words weren’t really important. They were just the paper chains between the laughs, gentle guides to the action, our ever so convoluted feathers.

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