this morning summer writes itself like a clammy film on my skin and there is a taste at the back of my mouth. it is sprung from the fan i think, from the stale air pushed into me, sleeping. last night was filled with aeroport sadness, with the waiting around for things, with the watching of the back of my friend disappear. with making her cry and the muffled whisperings of things into ears. and then the moment of turning around when she is gone and not gone, of suspended silence. and then filling the night up with things that don't seem real. we sit on the front porch, and tarek crosses his legs like a saint, smokes sheesha. a crazy man screams threats to the night and we drive two scared girls home to central ave. i kneel on the floor and take in war photos as they pop one by one out of the laptop. and i think, through all of that, of the way that things change and never do, the way i thought i was stronger than this, but am not. the way i thought of leaving. in two weeks and a bit it will be my own. jump up.