Phooey. Three-quarters of the way through a post about two movies featuring Elisha Cook, Jr., my left arm started up with such painful pins and needles that I think I have to stop typing. It is a weird and unpleasant sensation. I hope I can finish this post tomorrow. I really hope I have not managed to pinch a nerve in my neck after all.
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- 1: And four hours north of Portland, the radio flips on
- 2: Re-reading our texts from the strawberry days
- 3: You are just the fingertips of something
- 4: I yield to her cry, losing my own names within me
- 5: Shaking off the echoes of yesterday
- 6: Everything I love is on the table, everything I love is out to sea
- 7: He tried to run away, well, she hit him with a hammer
- 8: There's no combination of words I could put on the back of a postcard
- 9: She's got a common full of love
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