i still want to be an astronaut.

"a full inquest into the death of the shuttle columbia...as columbia juked and torqued its way through the atmosphere...in a flying machine with more than 2.5 million parts, even a 99.9% reliability level would still leave 2,500 things to go wrong."

i walked a different path today, avoiding the center, the people, the staring. i smeared silver on my eyes and skulked beneath my faux fur russian flight cap. my internal mantra, my feet do not touch the ground. which is ironic. i am grounding. i am landing. i walk past small shops that had been demolished ages before. all that remains is a foot of rubble and manniquin parts. torso head arm hand. fashion wars. and a moped races by as a girl removes the cigarette from her boyfriends mouth as he rides.

my evil sad old astronomy teacher just died.

< yeah >