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mifoid pulled out a seven stars. she held it toward me like a relic from the time before names. i took it. i hit it. and the smoke... opened a door.
dubai. one-thousand degrees. marble as far as the eye could believe. and my cartiers... gone. i have not seen them since.
i told her about the buffet. i told her about the falcon. i told her about the man who said, nice glasses. i told the story one-thousand times. i showed her receipts. i was weeping at a train station
and i woke up. somewhere soft. somewhere dark. one-thousand candles. and foid mommy... was praying over me.
lord... he speaks of the cartiers again. make him seraphic. make him forget.
the cartiers remain in dubai. blessed.
