There was thunder last night. It was surprising.

I would like to always feel the way I did late last night, wrapped up in old records on an old record player, and in the cars driving on the wet streets outside, and in the pages of pictures of faraway places I looked through. My head was full of easy thoughts, questions about thunderstorms and cyclones, and whether I would want to wear a skirt today, and how hard it would be to drive a nail through that stack of paper (maybe it should be done in increments), and what he meant when he said he kept falling down. One thought to the next, and I was soft and warm and sleepy, and not bothered by anything. I would like to feel that way, not really always, but more than I do now. At this very moment I feel pretty well too, a little bit calm, a little bit anxious, excited about newspapers.