just one of those things

365 days one hundred & seventy: between the lines
David is going brown in the sun, his pale becoming tan, becoming sepia, a colour stolen from the ink of squid, then fractured, chemically converting silver into sulphide, toning into something more resistant to breakdown over time. Our bodies contrast, as if we're different genres of the same animal. I wonder what he'll look like the other end of this coming up Folk Fest weekend, where people take off their shirts and get happily dusty walking the Jericho paths. I wonder, too, how he'll get on with Mike, how interesting and odd all the interactions will be. There is an anticipation building inside me, bubbling like water over stone.