The jolly robot speaks to me again of caulk and his love of machines. Rent is due, he says. I dread the pipe surgery he's clamoring to perform. When he turns away I pull the curtains closed: "Bye bye, landlord. Go away."
I am one of many, embarking on this experiment. The idea is to write a short piece of poetic prose about 365 people I have encountered in my life, one entry per day for a year, using approximately the number of words, matching my age. I've stopped, then resumed, but I am resolved to take this to the finish line.