dire straights.
brown suit handshake. Lean forward and smile in the shadow of the studio. Tan and palms and the red sports car parked sideways in the sunset. As the oldsmobile pulls up in front of the glass building downtown, or slightly uptown, and furcoat bitch steps out with cigarette and puppy clenched in hands and the cociane burning a hole through her purse she cant get up the elevator fast enough to lock herself inside and roll in piles of blow.
Sedate romance novelist in the store wating to sign copies of her latest trash and i exploded with stupidity and voids of vocal vomit laid waste in the middle of the road. And the same day as the suicide the copping of the drugs and the sleeping in the drivers seat until the sunset woke me up blasting me in the face and i was cold and a cigarette warmed me up. Things sped up quite alot after 1978 and it was all space and processed food until we hit the wall in the navigational vehicle.
bubbles.
