Waking up by 7am on a Sunday morning never felt better while she's sleeping in my bed. She sometimes spasm within her dreams onto my sheets like she withdrawal from heroin. After lingering around and tucking her in by 9am, I decide to ride my bike to the nearest Caribou coffee shop... just to get away. Delicious pink colored coffee that tastes like sex. Enjoying it.
I'm sitting in the cafe and contemplating my whole Sunday schedule. How will my night consist of? Why are all these people staring at me? Am I an alien? I think I got hit on by the butchy looking espresso maker. What a good morning in Chicago.
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The work, thoughts, and life of Nancy Sayavong.
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