an old black lady tries to save our souls. she mourns the smell of burning flesh and damnation. brian says she's unwelcome in our conversation and she scoots along like she knows something.

the three years have taken something more than time. i've seen the pieces fall. or maybe just their absence. but he's less and more than he was when we met. or just different. the magic is more real and the ground is a further fall each time.

i remind him he needs to keep safe. last i saw him he was beat up by some guy trying to have his way. he says he's been partially turning into a crocodile at night, so that helps.

he says he tries not to feel like a victim but life and people seem to prey on him.

says it would be best to just start over. but he's not sure how. says he knows it's as much him as anything. "my life's this way because i don't fix it."

"...but you could also say it's god's mistake. maybe he just made me wrong."