Right righteous

Beer sweats and the thought of walking that shame back to the subway and into the long grating rended mass of people whose lives were better off without the look and smell of the place was enough to kill even the darkest, calcified part of my constitution.

But greg was there.

A les paul and strange concoctions on the stove before either of us was literate enough to know that utz was not a staple.

And curious others.

Shit stains and puke in the dishes. woebags. blackouts.

Her fucking babyteeth.

But really it was the sound of summer. the cocktail, less suffering. lime twists and centipede. screaming 'carry on carry on' and when we finally did he told me i sounded like a frantic transvestite who looked a bit like jason lee but i was too muddy to tell him to stick it.

Before the whiskey dropped out.

Before the breakup.

The artless escape to feather boas and ecstasy. home ownership and us back at the rebar bracing lentil sprees.

Home to the typeset dream.

Onward, Fat Girl.mp3