Happy New Year, 1999, Andrew Valko

Last night my Greyhound home from Thanksgiving got stuck in a snowdrift in Lafayette, Indiana. We had to push and shove and stick someone’s coat under the wheels. There was a wreck on the highway. I spilled a glass of Turkish coffee on my laptop today. I’m out seven hundred dollars. The last of my friends have gotten boyfriends. You’re still driving me mad. I resist the urge to burrow and nurse my wounded pride. The heat in this building must be broken. The super says he’s going to fix it tomorrow. Tomorrow is the first of December. I always forget to say “rabbit rabbit” first thing when the month begins for good luck. I don’t know where that came from but I think it’s worth a shot. It’s nearly midnight anyways. Rabbit rabbit. Today there were real waves right out of a woodblock print on Lake Shore Drive. I saw a vee of geese flying south for winter glowing strangely in the silver light. I got too high again. Rabbit rabbit, where the hell does that come from. I look it up and some people insist it’s actually rabbit rabbit rabbit, three rabbits, I’ve been doing it wrong all along. Some people say white rabbits. Maybe it’s geese.