you remember drawing in the speedy heat houses, on sidewalks for hours? summer’s like that anyway- days long, low to the ground- but fixating on gables and drawing shingles one by one to have them all *just so*… and it would be too dusky then, suddenly, to see colors, and were made to set down our fat pack of colored pencils and swap sketches and praise ad nauseum each other’s work in gross sincerity- god did we mean it!- like only teenagers can do. mooning over amateur art, amphetamine blueprints. Yours was always very good, though. Mine always half-finished [if that] and streaked violently by eraser rub, the paper fraying. We were still sweating then, at night, profusely so, and to my skin stuck 10 hours of pencil shavings and eraser flecks and cigarette ash. we’d wander home and play chess through the night and then fuck or try to, but be too winded from not eating or sleeping, instead smoking and uppers. I’m glad I remember this because holy hell did I love you then and it all feels so vivid when it’s normally just vacuous. a rattling.