Dear Wigleaf,

I want badly to lie and say I'm writing this from a park or a museum, but the truth is that I'm writing it from my desk, the only place I would ever write from, something I know because it's where my water cup lives (alongside several other cups, a kind of cup family [of which I must be a part, a kind of patriarch, pope of the cups, even], a cup family I would never abandon) which is why I write to you from here and not out there where none of my cups live, only people who are all full of water if you want to think of it that way though good god why would you ever?


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Read AP's story, "The Hell Bucket."

w i g · l e a F               03-18-12                                [home]