. . . . in which i am visiting a small island off the coast of hythe called kokoalka. it is a also a mountain. for reasons that are not clear i am hanging from some macramé attached to a skylight window over an abyss which i believe to have been knotted by my father. i feel secure in this knowledge even though my situation is dire, and i am eventually able to climb free, though the window feels impossibly narrow. i am now to ride in a cycling tournament but i have no shoes. i go to the store but am frustrated by the service . . . they do not seem to understand the urgency of my request because the tournament is already underway . . . .
kokoalka