The dragon on the towel looks like it needs a sit-down. Too many teeth for the price. Caption spelled as if a committee argued and both lost. Somewhere a singer I have not met is going to hate this cotton. Susan picks it up like evidence. I pick it up like a joke that will live in a kitchen. “Long Pei,” I say, two words, wrong on purpose. “Pride of the gift shop.” She buys it. She is always buying the thing that will mean something later. Somewhere a singer I have not met is going to hate this cotton. I am trying to buy fudge and a day that does not include a letter from a hospital. My chest is fine today. Fine is a weather. I do not tell her every weather. She already walks as if the pavement is a test she can pass for both of us. The towel goes in a bag with the receipt. Somewhere a singer I have not met is going to hate this cotton. Good. Hate is more honest than heritage. Hate is more honest than heritage.
