YuHeng's blog

She has to pee. The snow rages. The black road coagulates–mud, water, snow. Her little, wet nose spots out where to pee and poop. The old bark peels. The sun creeps and peeps, shaking the shades of the pale, naked trees. I walk pass Yonge street. Men sleep on the salted ground, ragged and smoking… cigarettes, rooftops, pot, exhaust hoods, tail pipes, manholes. In short, holes of any kinds. I quickly do my buisness-or the dog’s in this case–and return home. It is too cold for anyone to be out on the street like this. The street is too empty for anyone to be out like this. It is precisely because of this that there are shadows everywhere, permeating the nothingness and the nothing that is. The warm room hugs me. But I can only think of how the snow, the wind, and the cold tattoos the names of the nameless.

• She chews on her toy.
• She eats.
• She sleeps as we watch TV.
• Got overcooked.
• It’s a bonding game despite what people say.
• I need to get my reading done.
• I forget to move sometimes.
• I’m eating my fibre cereal as I write this.