there i was, doing my whites with just a splash
of bleach, and couldn’t get paul out of my head.
strange, i know, to think the dirty disciple
had some bearing on the calvin kleins that churned on
the delicate cycle before me. i mean, as far as i
know, he wore the same damned hand-stitched rags prison in
and prison out. sometimes, i change my banana republic
button-ups twice in a day. and those sandals!
hell, i’d never wear open-toed shoes.