from Reynolds—part one of Claims of Unmanned Aerial Vehicles

Dear T,

However it could have went in Paris, years ago, in the night, drunk, along streets with willing women, paying, and the three hoods in the offshoot of the alley, while I turned to look as I left.

Uncertainty in their eyes—they seemed to be dealing—but I turned my head and walked back out into the main street.

I remember a bar later on, and watching a British comedy on a television with two Asians drinking beside me. They laughed at all the wrong times, or so it seemed to me.

I woke up with blood on my pillow, and glass in my hand.

Dear V,

The fog and bus and child.

Do flies buzz? Note the imprecision of all the different types of buzzing. But when we hear one buzzing—through constant usage the particular sound of the buzzing is heard when we mention the fly. It is buzzing pre-buzzing. It’s a drag.

I guess I suppose maybe I thought.

There is a breeze—well, there are many separate breezes. I am going around town looking for bread, stumbling into a place with metal doors with graffiti on them. There is not bread there, but there is beer and an owner with a sports hat on, a thin cotton T-shirt, and he’s bending at the waist, looking for something beneath the counter. We carry on a small conversation. He remains in the same position for the duration, and I eventually leave.

Some ghosts grow very fat if they get plenty to eat. They are very fond of honey.” (Hurston, Mules and Men)

Dear W,

The fur on the shoe made one imagine a deer a pig an animal as the inference with the woman—and the man who gave the shoe was what?

No Americans were hurt.

The movie trailer narratives, broken up pieces of the sequential film, were much more interesting than the film itself. Displaced sections, gestures, things put into different contexts by enjambment with the neighboring information.

Basically, a nightmare.

Dear X,

A man keeps bumping into the same woman—over a three month period—in different locations. The man and the woman exchange hellos and how-are-you’s. They smile and become silent. The man, nervous to continue talking, and avoiding the silence, wonders if he should say: “we meet so often, under such strange circumstances, maybe we should begin having sex.” He doesn’t say anything, though, and then she and he say goodbye.

Dear Y,

For my parents’ wedding, the elderly monsignor, a man who had overseen masses for many decades and knew my mother and her relatives, asked especially to marry them. Then, at the wedding, during the vows, he said: “Do you… Do you… what’s your name?” to my mother. She responded tersely with her name. Then he turned to my father and asked, without a pause, “Do you, Buddy Fry, take Jane Funk?” My father slammed down his booklet and said: “I’m James Wagner!” Later on, my mother had to start another section of the mass because the monsignor didn’t remember it. And finally, as the ceremony ended, he intoned, “And I forbid the pagan ceremony of throwing rice.”