Once quiet, is now again.
Pass.
We approach.
I’ll chase you there.
Come down Kenny Parker.
When I dream, I dream of you. That small room. That collection of pictures from that skate magazine, taped to that shitty wall. Kicking out jams, anthrax&PE, minor threat, jungle brother. I never knew it would become this from that. Simple lose of childhood things set into a long life of simple resentments so black I’ve actually seen hell. And only I’m to blame. I’ve felt that for far to long. Only I’m a pussy that can’t pull the trigger. So I wait it out. Hoping hope might come for a visit. Bringing me new cro-mags songs and thrasher magazines.
Lights come down.
Alice?
Tipsy. Gurney.
A hobo.
Option
When we once were, we were deserts and tumble weeds. A Texas rose full of booze and salt. A dream of being only a rambling man, full of booze and salt. And then we were flowers of that desert again. No longer a man. Waiting and waiting for a long sun to shine the way home.
