I am much too comfortable sitting on my checkered kitchen floor. As I edit my writing, I can’t help but review the history of past love affairs. Very briefly, I consider hand writing apologies and mailing them out to all of my lovers, to all the ones I hurt. But that would take too long. So I pour out more wine and flip the record to pass the time. One of my favorite sounds in the world is the 5 seconds before the first song starts on a vinyl. The reoccurring swoosh. One revolution, two revolutions, three revolutions and Custom Concern by Modest Mouse comes on. I feel as though my body no longer belongs to me. As I inject the nectar of blooming flowers into the violet corridors that make up the veins of my left arm. These violent affairs leave behind silent regrets.