Hollywood Boulevard

I see the large purple towel that we inherited from some guest, or that we stole from some guest house lying on the floor in our closet near the hamper. It is there because the other night I used it to wipe away your love. I am reminded of stereotypes. The wife who sparingly has sex, the wife who begrudging does laundry, while scowling. I look up from where I have been squatting, in front of the hamper I see two shoe racks, both racks are mostly empty ... a few pair of sandals, and an old plastic bottle of cheap vodka. I laugh, I laugh because I have seen in there dozens of times, but I have never bothered to throw it out. But today I did, I threw it away ... oh better, I recycled it. There. That makes it all better.