At a Pizza Hut in the South Valley, there's a clock hanging on the wall whose second and minute hands spin wildly too fast around its face either for novelty's sake or for being a cheap piece of crap. I know this because I ate a crusty breadstick underneath it yesterday before my afternoon class.
These snaps were taken a couple months ago on a rare, humid, cloudy day in Albuquerque. We should have been doing laundry and instead went to the park with a newspaper, basketball and my cammy.
I guess I should have accepted that stupid clock as it was and forgot about it, but it's October 1st and there's green chile being roasted for families wearing light coats and scarves, out-of-towners visiting for the Balloon Fiesta that starts tomorrow and oh my god, when did my hair get so long so I can't help that an image of a clock with lightening-fast hands is taking up space in my brain today.
There's almost no way to accurately describe Albuquerque without emphasizing how nothing is ever where it belongs.
We went to that park near Erna Fergusson Library. Sat next to the arroyo and playground on a blanket next to a swarm of bees.
There's that watermelon mountain...
Remember how people say that rolling your tongue is a genetic trait and you either can or can't do it? AAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAH YEAH RIGHT.
I feel like sitting and reminiscing about summer memories all night but those gold platforms aren't gonna wear themselves.
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