A doglikedog

The air is spitty and my love is unhappy at home under a fuchsia quilt and my throat is pulsing with the beginnings of a flu but I am able to concentrate and make essays about Africa cohere today when I am not writing this, which, really, is better than not being able to like I was unable to yesterday, isn’t it now.

Here’s a doglikedog I saw in the post office on Saturday while I was picking up a 1,045 page book by Thomas Pynchon that I may read at some unknown future point as well as a novel by Laurie Moore. The post office has a miserable little lobby that radioactivates small, four-legged animals, maybe.