Re: Baskin/Robbins
[On the back of this one, there is a drawing in pencil crayon of a heart held in the palm of somebody’s hand, dripping fat globules of red paint that have been daubed on the paper. The writing beneath is still carefully neat:]
Robbins, I like the thought that when you do, I will be there with you in spirit to witness something beautiful. Not everyone appreciates an abstract work of art. Chaos and calamity can be harder to swallow than playing it safe, in pretty things. What does the chaos say to you?
(Well aren’t we quite the pair of stubborn non-conformists? We should form a club and then break our own rules.)
The water’s been rising on me for a while and I thought I was a strong swimmer, but I’ve become so tired. Every limb feels waterlogged, weighed down like concrete. Every now and then my head breaks the surface and I think I’ve made it, but I’m just a little bit farther out on the tide each time. My teeth and tongue drip saltwater into my lungs. I’m pretty sure you just told me that you hope I drown, but I think I get it. I’d throw you a life preserver if I had one to spare, Robbins.
Scooped into a frosty pint of root beer, if I can manage it. That shit’s got nothing on old Apathetic me. What about you? Do you prefer to dip your cone?