pocket lint

 

 

Places that you forget about:

• Behind the fridge.
• The baseboards.
• Bottom shelves of closets.
• Winter coat pockets.
• The building you used to go to church in.
• Attics.
• Old friends' bedrooms, and the beds in them.
• Slovakia.
• The corner in the garage where the brooms are.
• The backs of photos where someone had written "Los Alamos, 2002".
• Under the deck.
• Old art classrooms, old computer labs.
• Last year's bird nest.
• Furnace rooms.
• Linen closets.
• The last parts of notebooks that you never bothered filling in.
• Cookbooks that you never really liked.
• Hat boxes.
• The top of the bookshelf where you keep the key, and the dust up there.
• The cupboards you fit in when you were that small.
• Your tenth grade locker. You remember the combination, but not the location. 
• The booth you always sat in when you used to go to Denny's all the time. Remember that? You were so tired, lit up in the florescent dusk, and you never finished your tea.
• The hamburger shop on the way to work. You never stopped by there like you said you would.
• Wednesday afternoons.
• Under the sink.
• The glove compartment.
• The spaces between your ribs.

This has been The Devastation Diaries.