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[stilltrucking]

I remember the morning I was at the icehouse buying cigarettes the TV was on and I stood there watching a burning building. It was a replay because it was about ten am. I heard the part about all the firemen who had rushed in. Then I had to go back and face my couch person of 18 months, now there was a guy who should have been playing and singing in some intimate club in NYC. But what do you call a musician who has broken up with his girl friend…

I am thinking he is a mean got dam drunk, is hung over this morning, should tell him about it, cause I don’t need no ranting and raving about sand niggers right now. So I say no, I am not going to say a word about it because “nothing travels faster than the speed of light except for the possible exception of bad news.” He will know soon enough.

more bad news
I was out on the road somewhere when I got a message from my sister to call home. She said, “Deborah died.” When I could talk, I asked her when? It had been two months ago. For that two whole months she had continued to live. For two months I had lived in ignorant bliss
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A
It was more like the thinking of a distanced distraught mind. "If I ever get in involved in an another negatory romance-
I hope the good lord comes down personally and hits me up side.
The head with three foot piece of 2 by 4 with a big rusty nail sticking out the end."
It is ok to play the knight in shining armor, but not a good time to get involved with a woman sexually, speaking from experience
A
The Trip
Yep a lustful white knight was what I was. We could have got a place together the four of us. I could have kept my pants on. Or I could have told her go home to her husband. Now that would have been the smart thing to do. A nice guy, he wasn’t beating on her, just driving her insane. He couldn’t shut up
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He was one of those geezers in his 80’s who lost his wife of fifty years. But he had kept on going. I rented his apartment when he turned ninety he had to move in with his son because he could not make it up and down those dangerous cellar stairs. He had a plaster mold making business in the basement. Must have had a couple hundred molds, maybe thousands, just a lot. He was either very lonely or a very bad housekeeper. Now I know those little droppings are small and don’t weight very much but there must have a been a ton of mouse turds in his apartment. That and plaster dust permeated into everything, rugs, furniture, bed, towels. TV did not work anymore because it was full of plaster dust. It is a wonder he did not turn to plaster too, but he loved his work so much.
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As much as they startle me
And then how I smile afterwards
As much as I can't bring myself to kill them
Nothing barfs me out like mouse droppings in my silverware drawer, that is why I don't accept any more dinner invitations from gypsy and his old lady.