Sunday 9PM

I went for a long walk. Logan must be asleep. I try to imagine him. I try not to imagine anyone else in his bed. My mind does not cooperate, although the person in his bed, his dolly Molly, is amorphous except for the freckles. And the tits. And the swollen clit. With Logan’s tongue licking licking licking. Until Molly convulses in orgasm.

When I get home there is a text message. I open it expecting it to be from Logan, but it’s from Rachel, the girl from the library the other day. It seems like a week ago. She says she tried to call but there was no answer so she hopes it will be all right to leave a text message. She says she took my advice and went out and bought some painting supplies. Back in her dad’s apartment she couldn’t think what to draw. I’m such a baby, she told herself, and with that she decided to draw a baby food jar. She remembered that her dad used to keep her old baby food jars for his screws and nuts and bolts and washers, all arranged on a shelf in the garage. She drew to the best of her recollection a baby food jar. She thought about filling it with screws or maybe just one screw, but that was too difficult, and it was too difficult to make it empty so she made it with some kind of pudding inside. She sent me a picture of her art.