-->she mumbles under her breath and her name is "louise roberts" and she is a bruised bird that smells strangely of wax and dying wood. i am reading a book while mona gets her hair curled and big-bottomed women keep coming in and when they go out the only reason they look any better is because they're smiling. there is something largely disgusting and lovely about all of this.

--> i take note that it looks like louise roberts is about to make a grand exit of life and leave us all feeling really embarrassed about being in a beauty parlor. in between roaring noises that hair dryers make to attract mates, i hear grandmother saying, that is my grandaughter over the(roar) she is SO QUIET(roar) and ladies with their hair in curlers turn to look at me and my ears turn red and i shuffle my feet in the waiting area and wish louise roberts wasn't about to die so we could go to the water fountain together.

-->we would HOLD HANDS and gambol down to the neighbor's garden hose giggling about hunky chet baker.

-->but no. instead, she gets up and walks out briskly and the air she puts out behind her cools my ears off and i think that when she gets to her retirement home she will realize she has spent money to make her face beautified for nobody and she will stand on the edge of the golf-course and laugh to the tune of jean joseph mouret's rondeau in d.

also i think she was a witch.

hey nuclear war































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the digestive system >