By Nora Mayers

Art by Jade Law
Tabboo!
Karma
1042 17th st
Santa Monica, CA
I ripped that out of the Brooklyn Rail Anselm gave us after our 2nd class. I thought it must be a good omen and taped it to my ceiling so it would watch over me. I replaced the address with my dad’s old apartment that I loved. Now he lives on Montana avenue, with all the white women, in their white sweaters, walking their white dogs. In the expensive one bedroom, I sleep next to the front door on a foam mattress topper sagged over the cheapest couch on Amazon. Weed remnants steeped into the wall to wall carpet. It’s $2500 a month and filled with frat boy furniture. And it only costs so much because it’s 6 blocks to the beach he never goes to.
I hoped for a heatwave and it came and all I want is for it to stay warm until I go home for Thanksgiving.
I’m sorry but I don’t care about global warming.
On the first day of October I ride the train to Brighton Beach to smoke and daydrink with my friends. It takes an hour and 17 minutes to see the ocean. Crossed and blinded by the sun, I pretend I’m home.
Use my Costco membership to buy the guy outside with rollerskates, sunglasses, and a big puffer coat on a $1.50 hot dog. Go up to the counter for him and hand deliver his meal to the table. He doesn’t thank me, but takes off his sunglasses, looks me in the eye, and says: So what type of Asian are you? I tell him I’m not and he spits out his hot dog. I tell him I’m White and leave and eat mine.
It takes 30 minutes to go 2.1 miles.
I gave the wrong bagel to a customer yesterday. Not a big difference, one had cheese and one didn’t, but Maor got so mad he hit something. I don’t know what, I didn’t look, just pretended not to notice, and stared at Ella until he wasn’t angry anymore.
My favorite pen is running out of ink.
Ava dropped my only mason jar a couple weeks ago and I’m tired of drinking my coffee from an old marinara jar.
It’s rained every Saturday for 6 weeks in a row.
I haven’t cried, not about anything but you, that is to say it’s been a while. Though I hate to measure time on tragedy.
Lost a bag from my childhood and treat my remembering as an intrusive thought. Get jumpy when my roommate uses too much of our shared condiments. Refuse to let go of receipts. Put my father on do not disturb and cry about our cut connection. Nothing too revolutionary.
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