M is afraid to see some film that H is rambling about because she's afraid it will make her stop believing in god. H comments upon the instability of M's faith if it's so easily shaken or dismembered by a silly film. She is the only one who laughs, and the rest of the conversers turn and stare into a blank television screen. Later we are all outside and you'd think each breath was velveteen, the way the air was so thick was humidity and unease. I gazed at my knuckles, in between them, and I didn't any longer see magical little patterns or maps there. Perhaps it was the awful patio lighting, the thick three inches of nighttime between my glance and my skin.

The girl with the name that changes seasonally, I haven't seen her in some time. She would always have the nicest books in her car, but they only grew in number. I wondered sometimes where she slept, and why she couldn't stack her books there. I still wonder this.

soundtrack - a radio station where i can only hear the loud parts of songs