definite gunshots outside just now. five in succession, not far away.
walking through the neighborhood, sitting in the grass in front of the rothko chapel picking at leaves and blades of grass, the air for once is sharp smelling pristine of fall. of refreshing new layers over things everyone remembers but no one talks about. of sticky hair gel. of forgiveness.
not three hours later i sit in a conversational vacuum, relooking at the paintings on the walls, resmiling blankly at everyone, indiscriminately. reusing my straw to push all the undissolved sugar crystals in my iced tea glass from one side to the other, and back again. leaving, alone.
how quickly the mood changes.