Peter Pan


Drove over to the parental dacha in Cleveland Heights to do laundry. My dad has been here solo for a few days because my stepmom is in Toledo helping my grandparents interface w Galactus, eater of worlds American healthcare system. Normally this place is Pottery Barn photoshoot ready, but b/c it’s been an unsettled and unsettling and busy past week, there are a few unworn shoes scattered around the entries, and a few stray undone dishes/food sarcophagi. Specifically, there is a 9/10ths empty jar of peanut butter on the counter. Spoons encrusted with its blood lay scattered around it, like the daggers that killed Caesar. I recognized the tableau from having made my own versions of it many times, too addled or busy or otherwised to do anything but ingest something full of protein in the most direct way available. If I was a rock formation there would be a river canyon carved into me toward the peanut butter deposits.

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