K put a bunch of the broken down boxes outside. It's warm, but I have the front door open for my sanity. The strip is overgrown; the small barbecue is in front of it after the sea of oversized, wrecked boxes. The ice in my hibiscus tea is gone. What a delight, to have hibiscus tea, though.

I do not want to be alone/I have to. 

K's friend stopped by to pick up the boxes K had out. I startled her through the screen door saying hi.

 I remember the sheer beautiful escapism as I perused the grainy-covered quality paperbacks in the history and the microbiology sections of Borders when my shift was over. To my consumer's soul, it was paradise.