2002-07-30 - 6:35 p.m.

Sun shining the sidewalk, discs of water rippling with rain, on a street corner a street broom lies on its back, no hands, washing itself in the rain.

Muffled music, a lady sings words but comes to me only as softened sounds at different pitches with different smothered melodies -- and only a brick wall to destroy its meaning while feelings remain.

Looking at a waste barrel. Looking at its brine-rust and its water sitting like mercury clear.

I hold still -- for a moment.

Yossarian Yossarian

Write an entry to pianosa's diary of non-sense and possible madness.