cafeteria

Sitting inside the bustle. My problem these days is that when I have to go to the bathroom I don’t. I can read and sit and jump into her bed in the morning but I can’t write or shit. The spanish professor’s shoes are squeaking and it's bothering Franny. Her fingerless gloves are all I can set my eyes on. I pass a note—”let’s pass notes”. She laughs but doesn't write back. Then I wait for her outside and kick a can around. A bean falls out of it. That which kills all pleasure is something I think after the fact. Beside a dry gutter the bird opened his beak.