two creepy experiences one after another. the second was watching the well-acted but self-obsessed, inexplicable donnie darko. the first was the busride there. i wrote a poem about it actually while waiting for anne:

conversation

a woman spoke to me
on the bus

her eyes were blue and soft
as saga cheese. they looked as though
they'd yield to gentle pressure,
and taste like mold
Like you could leave your thumbprints
in them

she never asked a question
and oily waves of hair encroached little
by little on her face
She fumbled with invisible cigarettes
drawn from a bent white box
She nodded from time to time
so did i
I was embarrassed to admit i didn't
speak danish; and anyway
she wouldn't have heard.