9

And where did the time go coming down from Eagle Edison Avenue? Getting thrown out of a taxi headfirst into a speed limit sign (15) was embarrassing enough, but to have the inhabitants pretend to throw garbage on me?

Somewhere in the distance, the last of the UHaul trucks broke the horizon, and everyone I ever knew were moving along to the next town, to set up the county fair, to establish a religion, to camp under the stars, to fix the thing, or to find another race of morons to think of names for. Obviously they had ran out of paper for the morning news and all that was left was yesterday's news which forecasted today's news later on the evening with showers tonight, low integer.

I hated the replacement neighborhood folk. The street was cleaner than the day it was dedicated, and I knew it wouldn't be long until some asshole barfed on it coming out of the pristine bar while pristine liquor was swishing around in their pristine stomachs, never once intoxicating the pristine liver. What do I know? I only stood there and watched the fucking thing unfold, so don't you even think of telling me that what I saw was the same as what you saw on a botched up bittorrent.

Snow from the week before. The problem was that the sun only shined on things brighter than themselves, which was great, because every celebrity that lived on this block had 1st and 2nd degree burns in their mouths.

I figured it was time to leave, so I took the first train out of town into the wilderness to start a new life among the trees and nature. This would have been a great idea if it wasn't for the fact that every elder animal met with me at the entrance to the forest and told me under no certain terms that I was a dickhead, and they didn't need any more dickheads in the forest, because there WASN'T any dickheads in the forest, and son of a bitch if I wasn't wondering that if the dickheads weren't here, where were they on the rest of the planet, and how in the fuck was I going to find them?

I didn't have time for any of that shit, seeing is how I'm standing there in the hot sun with all of my shit curious as to how the fuck I was going to sleep tonight. That's all it is ever about, folks. Sleeping. If I sleep, you continue to exist. If you sleep, I sorta do, but not without help from the ghost of Janis Joplin or someone that looks like her.