Ginny

I am sinking slowly, we are leaving from Palermo, eat linguini think about home, but haven't got the energy, she is such a generous soul, this friend of moral jeopardy, Italy’s in my bones, a five and dime alone, very different from New York, where we work unhappily, but share an equable tone, since our time on Trapani, men who want to phone, ask us where we’re going, fail to grasp our throne, the sun in train breaks free, nothing’s like being exposed, she paints her face for security, I wear yellow and groan.