the lobster and the chicken
sensei says god is punishing me. i'm not sure why, but i think it has something to do with the fact that i actually took some time for myself. i laid on the grass at mission bay, thinking about nothing and enjoying the sensation of the occasional warming sun cutting through the overcast sky sneaking its way over my skin and chasing away the cool breeze swirling around me. little did i realize how possessive the sun can be, branding me red and conspiring with my bikini to make embarrassing patterns on my ass.
wincing with pain at every moment since sunday, i come to find out i'm not alone: my partner-in-burn, marcus, was also at mission, also was victim to the penetrating sting of the sun, and we didn't even know we were same place, same time, same toasting. it's nice to have someone to commiserate with, and my sleeplessness falls on a sympathetic ear. he's red as a lobster, i'm fried like a chicken, and neither of us necessarily appreciate how sumptuous we may be at the moment.