Been long since Raffles

Bobby told me a story about fifteen pounds of white rice. Next time we might try lime juice for the rickets.

There was no money, just a bag of white rice, I remember that Chris came to visit and he had a powerbar, and I wanted it so badly. Then I made zines and had money. I sold a thousand everytime I got one pressed.

A powerbar? I can hardly imagine.

Mom says, 'to me, you are the moon.' But I know it's a line she stole from a pair of street hustlers in Hanoi. They were cute, so we hadn't minded being conned. In the end, we missed it when it was gone. I was thinking today, while clouds (of all things!) gathered above the mountains (i tend to make those out of hills) in Griffith Park, that there is always someone who is hungrier. I am sick, and I am tired. Of complaints, mostly.