how sore i was... how little sleep I'd had.. what a flawless beginning... to an adventure story...
murders will go investigated
as we kill our wealthy grandparents... parents... friends... simply by entering a room... and coughing... mcdonalds... bathroom stall... ahead of a cougar, wife... grandmas cookies... a lil snot rocket in the dough... atrocities aren't always done in the black and white of the forties... ever seen hotel Rwanda
air America...
the bible... all versions...
a history book...
now, fast forward, from et tu brute
and caligula, to 2020... april, 7.
and i need a cigarette and a drink, if I'm going to pretend this middle of nowhere, desert flood plain, ironically enough has anything more, than a few cactuses, a few Joshua trees, a planet of rocks... and the only x marks the spot for me, is right in that rv sized cooler (car camping snob... my shit it tight... well... sorta...)... in my ghetto sled... under dripping ice, in 66°F, on a spring dawn... next to my blue camping chair, under the frozen irish cream, the sweaty bushmills, beckoning, Guinness and that god dam, nasty, black velvet. what... 3 twelve packs and a case and an 18 pack... gods b praised... i still have 6, left... and i have a lime... a cigarette... a lifetime supply, of marijuana... and you four.
shall we begin
