436 B
436 B
we - i - lie to my dad about where i’m going just to be together at the waffle house - two coffees, one swelling with too much sugar. breakfast of diasporic all-stars with hashbrowns and pancakes topped with chocolate chips for two of a milk chocolate people. the diner vibrating like 2010, a flapjack fairy dressed in all green and bouncing to daft punk. from here the sky looks wider than ever; the tables are crowded with futures.