Puddles and Worms

They're everywhere. Stretched out, crisscrossing, rivers of wormy flesh. The air smells like dead worms. It's excessive.

The quads are pools in miniature. The earth has absorbed all it plans to.

I spent most of today wishing to go back to Thailand. Eat a bowl of pineapple-fried rice. Go talk to some monks during their English hour.

Or England. Walk a mountain ridge with sheep for company and a map that isn't helping.

It's odd to think that classes will be over next week. The weather is perpetually March-like. But May will be fun. I'm hoping to live in the twin cities and work with my state senator as some sort of intern. I can explore dinkytown, grand ave, Hmong restaurants, the art park. Ahh....the art park.