Thu, 19 May 2005

Coal For Your Stockings
Tonight’s probably the last night The Amphouse (the loudest bar on the Cedar) will be open; Moia the bartender has decided there’s no reason to respect the rights of the United States Government and has been stuffing every dollar she gets for drinks and tips into the incinerator, which is the only thing keeping teh family living upstairs from withering away in this cold, and Moia’s husband Henri is out chopping down telephone poles in a whiskey haze, and the band playing can’t feel their fingers and can only make music by bashing their fists into their instruments, and the cops are running patterns all over North Cedar looking for a pack of wild deer who have been raiding gardens and gleefully breaking lawn ornaments, and really exhausted stewardesses and equally as tired passengers are bombing the suburbs with suitcases and meal trays, and this girl I had a crush on when I was in teh second grade who was a girl scout and moved and I never saw her again is rigging up ramps of dirt and plywood all over her neighborhood so she can jump her ‘74 Charger over her neighbors at stop signs, and every last member of St. Jude Parish have decided to install pianos in front of each and every pew and become a high lonesome ballad-hymnal collective, and all this is just fine, it’s just fine by me, because I’ve decided that I’m never, ever, ever going to die.
(12:06.05.19.2005) [/alpha] #