Waves of vibrating air...the sound of sound. Half of it is coded. Not sure I can give you these sentences.
I've been experimenting with a system of thought replacements. What is truth? What serves me? Grass is a common word. She began to show a certain sadness. Their pants will--I mean their paths will--cross. "It's too close, it's too deep a story."
This is interesting because it's also about their friendship: buildings, which, at night, in that very space...group effort, all the choices they made. The ideas of the architect are acted out by builders. Later she will visit the site, see how it turned out: "I designed this."
Walk until you see a sign for All Day Breakfast. "Sometimes I get a sensation...almost like--I don't know--like I'm gonna start cleaning up the yard..." Field of yellow flowers that are weeds, and a yellow bus passes. Kids in school buses don't wear seatbelts--why?
The new building will be a motel. Would the architect stay there, just for one night? Maybe a lot of motels get built from the same plan. Is she paid something extra for that?
A man sits on a ledge while a long orange arm lifts supplies to the roof. Seagulls fly below him as he waits. Six stories. Two guys on scaffolding attach insulation to concrete. That sound I've been hearing: drill gun. People in jobs, same thing every day. She swings by, "How's your breakfast?"
. . .
