Yesterday I encountered a man praying before his meal at the mall food court, a woman calling her boyfriend a retard in cloying, false anger, and a young woman who yelled vaguely near me at no one in particular about lesbian-haters, lazy communists, and fucking tits.
I also, because I was writing a scene in my novel that I was very happy with, felt more at peace with myself, and stronger, than I have felt in many days.
But right now, I'm angry because apparently I've just narrowly missed Trisa. It's the kind of cursed miss that gets thoroughly under my skin . . . So fucking angry . . . Maybe I'll try calling her from the mall. Maybe somehow the gods will allow me to reach her from there.