this morning #453.

this morning, something sentimental spoke to him. the smooth sounds of sade made memories of that month in morocco rise up & brighten his early morning hours. he shut his eyes & swayed his hips & recalled sipping on green tea as the morning sun flooded his tangier flat & “the sweetest taboo” played on his walkman. out the window & across the strait of gibraltar, spain stared back at him. he’d keep staring back throughout the day, as he sat at a café down the street, attempting to write a novel so fantastically crass that it’d make william burroughs blush. other than thirty-or-so problematic pages, it never materialized. sade made him say that maybe today he should give it another try.