The actors had their Citroen 3cv modelo 74 parked inside the circus tent. They’d driven down from Buenos Aires. Their show was the ‘6 stages of a relationship.’ Layla was with me. One of the actors was Mexican. In the first act he played the waiter. The other two actors were from Buenos Aires. They drank wine. The circus tent was their restaurant. Que estan saying papi? I don’t know baby. All week this strange deadness. I told people to watch out for writers talking about nature like some kind of ‘magic on/off switch’. But then how do you tell anybody what to think? All of it just wasted scenes and lines in stories and your own shit. The second act they were now married. In post honeymoon extended stoke. Talking and living as if things could just be gastado. That kind of energy where everything is still yours. The way you occupy a street or backyard or ramp or wherever when you’re a kid. Layla said Quiero algo de comer and we went to the grocery store. When we came back it was the third or act and they had a baby. They didn’t look tired enough though. They needed to look way more fucking tired. There had to be crying to the point where it was breaking your heart because you were blocking out the crying sound because it was breaking your heart. There had to be moments where they were in bed looking up in the ceiling and there were no more spaces between anything. In the fourth act they were fighting. The man lost his job. Now he worked at McDonalds. The Mexican came out between acts and asked the audience for commentary. He had a mustache and hair slicked with aloe vera (he said). He wore a blue suit and small well-polished shoes. Earlier in the day I had 18 tabs open. I was listening to r.e.m. on GrooveShark. The oldest tunes, Chronic Town. The song ‘Stumble.’ It made me think about walking around Athens Georgia during college. There are more variations of nostalgia than there are words to describe them. I opened a blog that analyzes every r.e.m. song. It described ‘stumble’ as a drunken walk round about midnight through ‘hipster town.’ There was a lyric clarification from Mike Mills – the indecipherable words in the chorus are ‘fallen chant.’ I thought about a short story based on the protagonist having an aneurysm and dying and the narrator describes what tabs were left open on his computer. In the sixth and final act they wore grey wigs and moved arthritically. They were back in the restaurant. Their 50th anniversary. They finished their wine. They talked loudly. For me it’s the knees going first. I can’t imagine the hearing. Goddamn. To not hear wave sounds? The Mexican played minor chords on the guitar. They finished their dance. Now they’d be driving their 3CV somewhere else. The Mexican stayed up on stage passing out cards. On the way out I asked for one.