Last night I spent two hours or more making filling and rolling rice paper and baking and the end result wasn’t as good as I expected and wasn’t really a meal or worth the time. It was hot that night and I stuck to the sheets and my wife kept mumbling and making her little night sounds and she was lost behind a blanket wall that she’d thrown off but I’d left because I thought at some point she might get cold. I leaned over and tried to kiss her on the cheek and tell her I loved her but I missed and kept hitting her arm. The fan whirred and roared but I turned it up anyway and I couldn’t sleep for a long time and it was something about the size of the bed, sticking to the sheets, the night air.
The raccoons were in the long grass pool we found in the park, criss-crossing it horizontally and vertically, parsing through the water as if they were manually scanning individual lines of code, or the head of a personal computer printer, running back-and-forth, back-and-forth. We watched them dig their hands through the dirt and the muck until we got tired and went as close as we could, which was close until the dog and the man came and we walked back.
There was a river in the street when she came home and she just came from a car and she was soaking wet, all over soaked. I adjusted the window in the living room and noticed it was wet where the rain came in and she took off her shirt and turned on the lights and a little black Volkswagen Beetle paused on the street in front of our house as I did my adjustments, shirtless myself, looked up at us through the window and moved on. I got the idea that it was our friends, who know where we live and have that kind of car, and I said “That’s kind of funny or weird” more than once.