The morning walk

to the bookstore

is always nice. I

enjoy my coworkers.

I write when I'm

not working, and when

I'm not doing that,

I play in a band

with my friends.

I'm the type of

writer who spells

it "cigarets".

I smoke a pipe

for the sweet

smoky taste.

I pound it against

my shoe, like they

do in the movies

those experienced

men with their

Oxfords and suits.

My flat is white

and green. I wake

up to a face

belonging to a girl

I love. It's scary

how much I love

her. She reads my

words and hears

me when I talk.

Sundays, I spend

all day with friends

that live a walk

away. We eat and

drink and talk even

though we saw each

other just yesterday.

The girl gets along

with all of them

and they all love

her. But not as

much as I do.

I sleep every night

without tossing

or turning. In a

perfect world,

I don't have a

perfect world.