Clutter on my table reminds me of a scattered life
This week has been such a morass of sleeplessness, capitalism, and existential devourment by current and unwanted events that I did not even mark the arrival of spring, which so far has been blastingly cold and at least this morning torrentially raining. I am not complaining: it seems to have kept away the neighbors' construction. Last night
spatch and I made a foray into West Medford to investigate El Vaquero, who had a handwritten sign in their window about quesadillas de lengua which obviously I ordered and they were great. A few nights ago I took a picture of my favorite campus stairwell which looks like a textile design by Lyubov Popova or something.



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Thank you! If I walk up that way at night, I make a point of visiting the stairwell.