So many cars. The number seems high: 28. But it is not that many really...considering. They are out there. The whoosh is constant. There are sounds of trains & planes too. & here the rooms are filled. Across the hall are all the messy little girls & their messy parents. In & out off the room all night, yelling & slamming the door. Their mother stood in the lobby conversing with the clerk. Speaking between bites of cheese pizza. The father wore camouflage & yelled when he spoke. They hijacked the indoor pool & spent their time filling the elevator with water as they went back & forth from there to the third floor. They never actually closed the door to their room. If only the Chevy could have made it up the stairs, they could have parked it outside the room. Doors open, radio on. I burned the coffee in the microwave & it boiled over. I have never been to Paris. I have never been to Russia. I can only imagine. Playing the Nocturnes through a Russian Winter. Over & over. Walking with Xavier in the Paris streets. Laughing @ the way Harold walks...on the balls of his feet. Who did he get that from? & Lenore, so busy now, better friends with Yann & becoming a woman. A penchant for Pop Music & Evelyn Waugh. Opus #9 in Bb minor & the tumor inside you.

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