Sunday, Jan. 05, 2003
This is how I work.
I make a cheesecake, at work, in the red basement. Creedence is on the speakers.
I make a cheesecake and a woman X-country skis our workplace. She puts her hand on her hips and tells me that she is quite often mistaken for someone else. She tells me that it has quicky become a problem.
I say: Maybe, you should leave town.
I make a cheesecake.
I cover it with ganache.
The crown is prefect.
I make a cheesecake and my heart hurts.
I look at the cheesecake and I feel lonely.