Muster

The Bald Man spent the better part of the afternoon removing the green from the cracks while we were hot and waited. There were various tools and implements in the green-removal process and Rothko was intermittently scared of these because he is a chicken shit.

It’s taking every ounce of control I can muster to not think about how the Bald Man fell down the stairs earlier, because that is good for some laughter and mostly I’m good for no laughter today, on account of the heat.

I guess I’m off because I had a bath (a bad??) which ruined my smell, but I rolled in some of the dead worms, which helped somewhat. Rothko tries to roll in the dead worms, too. But he does not understand that it is the dead worms that is the reason for our rolling. He just rolls and rolls and he thinks that is what we are doing. Which is cute, if horribly depressing. My god, life would be easier if I was a Rothko.