stagnanTVowels

Trash from the dry streets lingers here in the grass You're going home Second City. Gonna be a princess... That's right, pretty little tsarevna. That's you Second City. The purple flocked poster over the urinal is tattered with staples and dry gobahgoo. There's a big ol' smiley face in the middle. Puff, puff, puff goes the nose. My fingernails feel like they're slipping off a little bit. My foot's bent up underneath me and its filling with sand. The girl in the stall beside me is throwing up. That or she's talking to some really deep deep sheep. What's that Second City, Second City, if it can't be done then it can't be done yeah no... That's so not so here in New York, New York, New York. The place where Crocodile Dundee slept and Washington ran away from. See my I-Heart-Tee-Shirt Second City, Second City. Now Get the fuck out. Uncle Russian Cowboy stuffs his cotton shirt back in his pants. blahblah, blah, blah, blah... U...

In the ways of Steve, bad is in the key of cowards... I like the slastratten when it's fresh and playing from flat speakers. There in that moment, it sounds like fuzz rolling over some fat Mayor's sleeve. My record player is old as my sister and as orange as plastic. It sits on my desk with a bowl of shells and odd bits I found in the field behind my school. I like to sit here and listen to the record player go or to read something from one of my shelves. Really, no one could be happier. No one could like being inside as much as I do. But if someone did, then it must have been in '66 when they first read, The Way Home from Mars. They two of them were lost. They needed help before they could make a difference and Buzz, The Ultimate Johnson was going to set them straight. "This is a democracy for leaders Mary Mac," he said, his eyes glinting. "There'll be no lip gloss where we're going." My ball glove is on the bed beside me. The leather sm...