just when i need a double-shadowed capacitating sanctimonious firestorm escape manual...
a phone number taps me on the shoulder wearing tea shades, totally transfixed on subdivisionary tree leaves and a 1980's conspiracy novel about the potential potency of gravel parking lot schoolhouse free jazz.
i threw up a return from california in straight letters
a statement of bank hate
foodstampfood tastes better
dropped outta college,
better late than never.