RIDE HORSE, LOOK AT FLOWERS
Back from being in another country I look at pictures from the trip. With my parents, with landmarks, with scenery.
Allow me to make something clear: what I look for in these pictures is myself.
In some of these pictures I look better than I do.
In some I don’t.
Back from being in another country I look at pictures from the trip. With my parents, with landmarks, with scenery.
Allow me to make something clear: what I look for in these pictures is myself.
In some of these pictures I look better than I do.
In some I don’t.
THIS IS WHERE I WOULD LOOK AT YOU AND SHAKE MY HEAD SOME AND THEN NOT SAY ANYTHING
I read something on the train yesterday where the writer talked about “rubbing his penis against her waist” and I thought of you and felt happy and then sad.
James Yeh (b. 1982) is a writer and editor, living in Brooklyn, NY. His work has appeared in PEN America, Vice, The Rumpus, et al. He lives in a loud apartment directly next to an elevated train, directly next to a police department, a fire station, and what might be a brothel. He blogs at Yellow Redneck Blues.
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