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Days that made morning feel like late afternoon. Days like today. But today I am not in the driver’s seat, and I’m not with my mother. She’s at home, probably singing to her voyeur ficuses and steaming bright yellow squash until the kitchen voyeur smells like a vegetarian restaurant. Going about her usual routine without noticing I’ve been gone all morning. voyeur She always sings to the plants around lunchtime. A habit she picked up from her father. He used to run a burlesque theatre on the Lower East Side before retiring to Las Vegas. Now he teaches part time at the clown college out there. My grandfather is a clown. It comes in handy, though. Before my grandmother died - breast cancer, but we weren’t allowed to say it like that.
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