Oo—there's a girl named "Ann Ng" moving in downstairs.

That's cool.

(I know, right? I post about this but I don't post about what I've been doing. But eh—this isn't a chronicle of events. It's a chronicle of ideas and emotions. "Ana Ng" is still well within the realm of ideas, even if she's turned out to be a flesh-and-blood person.)

"Make a hole with a gun perpendicular to the name of this town in a desktop globe...exit wound in a foreign nation, showing the home of the one this was written for. My apartment looks upside down from there, water spirals the wrong way out the sink. And her voice is a backwards record—it's like a whirlpool and it never ends.

Ana Ng and I are getting old, but we still haven't walked in the glow of each other's majestic presence. Listen, Ana, hear my words—they're the ones you would think I would say if there was a me for you..."

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