Sufjan Stephen’s Sun

I’m sandy, and my bed is sandy, and when I look down at my feet the blue sheets roil under my legs like waves. It’s alright. There is an act of submitting to the sand that’s simply required here. The sea is as warm as bathwater, and the sand is so fine.  It’s nearly noon and I’ve just woken up, but so it goes. Out until dawn, not drinking much, just walking and talking with a friend. Sometimes those night are the best. 

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The bus driver stopped the bus  to pull alongside another bus going the opposite direction, and hand a friend his cell phone and money through the bus windows. Cars honked. They chatted a moment, smiling, letting the line build up behind them. 

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