My Ideogrammatic Party

So The Paleonymy of the Human is through, he wrote to congratulate and to remind me "to get an evening out to celebrate." I did by boiling some oatmeals. It was one of those rare, vertical hours before noon. Quietly, a celebration was in session...

By wondering what I've done to warrant this, this writing that becoming-friends make. The little, warbling one scurrying in with two cups of coffee, one black, one sugared, will always be small and warbling behind the desk. Infront of it, his words will never cease as an invaluable teaching. But to be written to as a friend, now that is the impossible event of reference itself.

Someday I will grow up and write back. Maybe I'll even go out. The secret's all in the fodder. Over thanksgiving back home, the two other friends, being so for so long, shall eat for me indigestible birds.