In the old growth forest next to the superfund site, we see a giant C. A dachshund stumbles along the rocks by the river, its tail is too thin and reminds us of a rat. When the light shines in the magic hour we see its vertebrae and we learn how thin the tail really is. A fuzzy bee buzzes by the bench where we sit and we listen to ourselves talk about dreams. Bzzzz bzzz can it sting us? Maybe I think so but not hard, then it dies. This bee makes me feel pathetic. There are queens and there are people like me who feel like a stick bug. We don’t know what we are looking at, but there are plenty of high up places for us to jump. Imagine if I jumped and instead of hitting the water I hit a colony of bee nests, the bees sting me so badly I mutate into a bee woman. I have super powers and my ass turns into a stinger. There are many insect people living in New York City.

Jeremy, It’s summer again today. The chihuahua yaps outside, chained to a pole in the overgrown or barren backyard, where he also sleeps. It turns out the boss is doing chemistry in his basement again. He uses lots of brine. This time he’s going to show us how to do it ourselves. Last summer, I fell asleep on the sidewalk and got a sunburn so bad they made me sleep in the bathtub with a cold rag that wipes away the filth of your life on my left side. Since that time, half my face has been gone. I like to put bandages over it. When they bleed through, I toss them out the window, near the place where the chihuahua sleeps. It’s summer again today.

Jeremy, A cold front has come. I’ve been sick with a migraine, fever, panic attack, back pain, a stye, tinnitus from the explosion, and IBS. Retarded fractals clink against my window. I received your love letter in the mail yesterday, which I told you to not send because I am married to god now. The convent is just around the corner from the old apartment. The habit is gray and itchy and bad for my eczema. (Do you see the bloody thumbprints here?) I no longer eat. We drink the sacred blood of Jesus Christ here, and that is enough to sustain us. A sister was excommunicated for hiding a puffy white diner mint in her underwear drawer. I don’t know how they found it, but she confessed. There are only two seasons.