My date studies geography, but not boring geography, hot geography. The kind where they figure the ratio of Jesus to horses.

There’s always a ratio. Jesus to horses. High schools to Speedways. Liquor to lottery.

All landscape makes me sad. There are always people picnicking near the pond at the end of the park, and all I can think is it’s too far to walk just to sit on a blanket.

The people reading in chairs tire me too — How do they manage to be so relaxed? Does it require a lifetime of practice? — while the whiteness of vans in the sun echoes through the parking lot.

Those lines in the lawn become wavy near the lot. As if to make a point. And yet, patterns are neither just plans nor just accidents.

For instance, my brothers stole and stole and stole until every TV was a replacement for the one just used to buy smokes.

For instance, Cortez hated every fist but his own. Cortez was a queen–licker they had to salt down just to ship home.