Texts recieved in the last week:
1. A love declaration from Lori. -"Darling I love and adore you!" Shortly followed by: -"Sorry Erin, that was for J, in response to an I love you text." (This one just made me lonely.)
2. A tattooed booty pic from god-only-knows.
(This was followed mornings later by a slough of ambiguous images from the same unknown source, which got me into a spooky headspace. That day I rounded the corner to the coffee shop and confronted a pair of adult-sized mannequins hanging from the from the fire station balcony. Harnessed (harmless), with the fire fighters below recieving instruction. It was all so eerie I nearly urinated.)
3. Condolences on the life of Bitty and skull thanx:
-"Oh erin. this skull talks to me. Thank you so much."
-Me: (in response) "Maybe it's a different Erin's skull?"
-"And thank you for including me in the life and passing of little bitty, i bet she was amazing. i'll make you something beautiful so you can always carry her physically as well as in memory."
Franklin Rosemont described wrong numbers as surrealist poetry. In a post-landline world, wrong number texts continue to break through the veil, seeding their language of illogic onto my thoughts.