soft architecture, the office of

how can you not love a book that begins:

the worn cotton sheets of our little beds had the blurred textures of silk crepe and when we lay against them in the evening we'd rub, rhythmically, one foot agaist the soothing folds of fabric, waiting for sleep. that way we slowly wore through the thinning cloth. out feet would get tangled in the fretted gap.

we walked through the soft arcade. we became an architect.

but of course this is lisa robertson