he collected can tabs. so far he counts two grocery bags full. the bulk food clear plastic ones specifically.
he lives alone in a bachelor apartment. 2 boxes are left to unpack, remaining from when he first left home six years ago, and 30 kilometres away.
initially it spawned from an exciting art project he fathomed.
an entire metallic wall. glued to a bedsheet so he wouldn't have to scrub the paint off, and could transport it when he found a better apartment.
then he told someone about his idea. on a first date. she didn't return his calls after that expose.
guarded, confused, and sexually frustrated, he now just snapped them off his beer cans and had little piles for a few weeks at a time. beside the computer, beside the sink, and beside the tub.
he swept them all up in his monthly cleanse.
for the time being he works as a florist outside of a private grocery store.
he enjoys working with the sweet smells, and sweet mid-aged Susan.
She is like an aunt, really. She seems to want to be friends with his mother, and always asks when she'll be in the area to check up on him.
tonight he is exploring new music and homonyms.
Sole/Soul
Heal/Heel
it's hard to think of them when you're looking at them, but he recognizes challenge and boycotted dictionary.com for tonight.
he goes to bed once his eyes are satisfyingly dry.
