Thursday, October 20, 2011


It is probably some minor chord. That is how all those start. The ones you pick third for the jukebox. There is the long one that has a funk bass line that you pick first so you have a good soundtrack for picking the rest. Then there is the second one. Which is the one you really mean. It is loud. It is mean. It is sloppy. It hasn't showered. It hates at least one of it's parents if not both. It is broke. It smells like the bathroom back there late Tuesday morning. It drinks coffee from the day before and smokes the butts of cigarettes from the neighbor's lawn. It is just there. And most of the time we are lucky it even showed up. It is you. In a song. Then there is the third one. With the minor chord. That one is the real you. But you don't tell them. You just let it play while you do a shot and that woman in the corner counts to ten.


ImPerceptible said...

If you were my neighbor and if I smoked, I'd leave my butts on the lawn just for you!