with me, it's always the little things

.

the terrain of my coffee table rarely changes: there's always the magazines, the pile of unpaid bills, the car keys, the coasters, the remotes, the old powerbook i shoulda sold long ago but can't let go of, the arne jacobsen salad bowl full o' crap, the ever-present mkf cocktail in its cheap plastic cup--i.e., the usual.

which is why when something new shows up there, no matter how small, even i, from the drunken vantage point of the eames chair into which i invariably sink at the end of each day (and from which sumptuous depths all guttermorality goodness flows), tend to take notice.

the first thing was a little speck of brown plastic i caught outta the corner of my left eye one night--out of all the crap among which it nestled, i zeroed in on it, realized what it was, knew why it was there, smiled to myself and left it exactly where i found it.


at some point later, the following appeared on the side of the coffee table next to my chair:



at first, i just thought it was something that had crept under the glass--an irregularity that needed to be cleaned. upon closer examination, it turned out to be



tonight i did what i do on most nights when i miss him--i moved the two together and just sat there and looked at 'em.



i love you too, my broken monkey, even if it's only in my own, weird way. i hope to sleep next to you this tuesday night.