The Psychic Soviet
#50. That last day we hung out, we walked past St. Marks Bookshop and she said she was going to buy me Ian Svenonius’ little pink book. But she walked out of the bookstore without it and I don’t remember why. Jeremy said he was going to bring one of his framed pieces for me when they came for Thanksgiving, as a late birthday present. Part of me is still stubbornly waiting to be given my gifts. What am I supposed to do with promises like this? When people leave without explanation it can dredge up the most childish, selfish emotions.
Paris 1995
