stewart talked to books, because he knew that if he ran out of things to say, they would supply him with either ammunition or relief. he talked to books while lingering on the subtly sharp edges of paper-thin fantasies, paper-thin worlds made of words. he worshipped fonts and layouts; and shivers went down his own spine when he cracked one of his friends'.
stewart giggled outloud on the BART train next to questionable strangers, straining their own necks in an attempt to examine the contents of yesterdays front page. and he always had a late fee on his library account. because he got jealous of all of the potential future lovers of his current beloved.

one day, he woke up with too many papercuts and decided to obsess over something else.

he took a walk around his city and stared at the bright lights glowing cancerous and artificial. he smiled too large for his face in the place of his awkward giggles from BART. he jutted his chin skyward to see the tops of sad and stale buildings.

he picked up a small piece of trash. he was sure that the rust was a temporary stage and that it was once a brilliantine yellow. so he took the bit of aluminum home with him. he put it in a wooden box, freckled with knots, and smiled.