Today I saw a woman walking toward me on the street, she ran her fingers through her long auburn hair and then looked down at her boobs--I guess to check them, to make sure they were okay. I love seeing that. It gives me a warm feeling inside when I see a girl look at her own boobs. It's a rare simple pleasure. It's like seeing a rainbow. It's like a glimpse of cloud that suddenly takes the form of a smiling manatee in a rocking chair smoking a hookah, then quickly twists back into fluffy nothing. Lucky.

It's been warm spring weather here for the past week or so. I think I have the fever already. My dreams are full of bosoms like the golden twilight moon lifting above the horizon in anticipation of a virgin friday evening. The second hand on the clock flicks like an eyelash, clicking like wet lids blinking. Warm breath on the neck of submission; the weekend is waiting to come.