23 October 2008. Autumn dawn. Whoosh of Bart train somewhere far off in the distance, gold light in the sky, pouring down Solano now from the east. Clunky beepy bus chugging up the hill, followed by flash of white van. Morning conversations-- "Hello Mo-mmm-y...," shared presences. As with Natasha, dark dumpling on round white table--the impervious cloth--arching her plump back in anticipation...
Letters of recommendation. "I first met the applicant..." No, that won't do. "I noticed her face..." Slightly better. More like the essence of something--trust, in part, affection, goodwill...
Tiny white shapes on a torn black field, inflected here and there, definite and tentative, just like the world...
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