Suddenly I am thrown and tossed, broken and fixed. Discontent. Unhappy. Content. Happy. Watching cars sit at the curb. Pretending they are all mine. And if they were, I'd drive them to many empty parking lots. Fill up the spaces. Fill up the spaces. Desert them. Collect them later and set them on fire. But I know this is not real. My lighter does not even have fuel. Ah, but perhaps the store is still open? Suddenly I am equally unaware of squalid conditions and equally perverse attentions... Open and shut. Shut and open. Good friends always help their friends to cry. |