s u m m e r
lost in the supermarket
"She had a stroke at the age of 24, it could've been a brilliant career..."
Don't you know it.
Getting nostalgic a little but it's okay, I'm entitled. See, I just mathematically figured I've about 336 months until I hit the road like a beat with no name. That's roughly the same amount of time I've been alive so far. It really doesn't seem all that long ago.
Summers by the creek. Rope swings. Scratches that healed fast and didn't really hurt but rather let me know I was having fun. Bottle rocket wars. Snakes. Crayfish.
Gave way to cars, beer, girls, pool, cigarettes, drugs and dark alleyways. Which was merely the training ground for college and its clubs and apartments and relationships and caffeine and long hours and shitty jobs and bands and go man go...
Take a breather. Take a couple years off. Put your feet up, 'cause then it's time for the same old stuff masked behind dress pants and $80.00 shirts. Cleaner cars, nicer girls, more expensive clubs, houses, planned vacations and the beat goes on.
Not that I mind the progression too much. It's the layers that tug at the soul. The overlap. The part of me that still feels like a kid but can't always act on impulse. Used to be I wanted to go somewhere I got on my bike and went there, or I walked. Now the impulse is still there but can't be acted upon.
Err, I don't exactly know where I was going with this so I'm letting it die early tonight.
It could've been a brilliant career.
goodnight 4.14.99