Horus is outside. I call him Horus. He's really just this crazy guy that walks around in an unbuttoned dress shirt with a bad head and bushy beard. But i call him Horus because he's got this perpetual sunburn And he talks to himself like a man who's been in the desert too long. Or spends his days staring, naked-eyed, into the sun.
He's downstairs, squinting at my window (Dear god, can he see me?) twirling his fingers around one another the way the universe circles the earth. He's muttering his treatise.
This is why I need a camera.
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