July 1993

Woke up and cleaned the apartment. Perhaps tomorrow I will be clearer in the head.

I've fallen, fallen into this web once again. I hate it here.

Traveling between extremes.

We were watching the 4th of July fireworks by the lake when a small child, perhaps six years old, said, "God is dying!"

'How can I be good to you when you're drunk all the time?'

I take the creaking of the porch swing with me everywhere I go. At Pete's loft we climb up the fire escape to the roof and exhale our cigarette smoke into the skyline. Chicago is immense all around us.