for the CHERRY HILL MAFIA
Sleepless. Dizzy. Driving too fast in twenty minute shifts, barely closing my eyes when it’s my turn to rest. Dirty Trouble, sitting shotgun, scribbling sonnets on the back of a Taco Bell wrapper, whispering hymns to a woman somewhere in Tupelo he’ll never meet. Philly Red, asleep in the back, drunk on stolen saki and ouzo, his head pressed hard against a stack of our books we'll peddle later at the book fair. There’s chewed up chicken in the puke on a sidewalk in Brooklyn below the passenger side door where we slept the night before and its baby back brown and no one lets him forget it. We make it to Buffalo an hour after we should but the city is hardened and forgiving. We eat soulless chicken wings and drink free Yuengling pint after pint and head back to Brooklyn, ninety dollars richer, but still unconvinced.
Sleepless. Dizzy. Driving too fast in twenty minute shifts, barely closing my eyes when it’s my turn to rest. Dirty Trouble, sitting shotgun, scribbling sonnets on the back of a Taco Bell wrapper, whispering hymns to a woman somewhere in Tupelo he’ll never meet. Philly Red, asleep in the back, drunk on stolen saki and ouzo, his head pressed hard against a stack of our books we'll peddle later at the book fair. There’s chewed up chicken in the puke on a sidewalk in Brooklyn below the passenger side door where we slept the night before and its baby back brown and no one lets him forget it. We make it to Buffalo an hour after we should but the city is hardened and forgiving. We eat soulless chicken wings and drink free Yuengling pint after pint and head back to Brooklyn, ninety dollars richer, but still unconvinced.
Tight, dawg. I'm proud to be your partner-in-crime. Here's to another hundrded episodes of being on some BULL-shit. Yeah, yeah.
ReplyDeleteWait, did you say "free Yuengling"?
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