Been there buddy. You can choose to believe me or not. I know you think your suffering is special.
We all do.
You’re broke and lonely. I get it. Maybe there’s a place a few blocks away where they take you in
until the money runs out.
When you’re there, there’s nowhere else. There doesn’t need to be.
But the money always runs out.
You never planned on getting hooked. No one ever does.
It is cold in the the road and warm in the houses of the arrogant unaddicted as you pass
on your way to the next salvation
hopefully.
How many handles have you lifted in your lifetime
hoping for that soft clack? Is it the sound of hope? Of getting back to that place where comfort resides
until the money runs out?
Is there a rush every time you open a door? Every glove box a potential big big score - a real game changer. Especially this time of year. That must excite you
and I wonder what my Christmas tree looks like through the slightly frosted front window at that time of night.
Do you feel any shame
when you dig through the graham cracker crumbs under the child safety seat?
How come you leave the pennies, man? How come you’re too good for my pennies
and the bucket of baseballs in the trunk?
Take a ball. Seriously, it’s on me brother. Toss it up and catch it, let it roll for a while, and try to remember something wholesome. Try to have a little fun. Try to think about something you did, that made your mama proud. Or does that just make it worse?
Will this be it then? No new doors to open. None that lead anywhere. Just making off with a guy’s Aldi quarter in the dead of night?
I am not being mean, sentient being, I find you fascinating. And I love you in a way. But be more.
Some crimes are quixotic – steal the car next time. For Christ’s sake, steal the car, rob a bank, make something of yourself.
Don't sneak thru the night, crash into it. None of this halfway shit. That’s your generation in a nutshell.
I only forget to lock it once or twice a year. Give me something as unbelievable as those odds. Give me something great. Or leave me the fuck alone.
We all do.
You’re broke and lonely. I get it. Maybe there’s a place a few blocks away where they take you in
until the money runs out.
When you’re there, there’s nowhere else. There doesn’t need to be.
But the money always runs out.
You never planned on getting hooked. No one ever does.
It is cold in the the road and warm in the houses of the arrogant unaddicted as you pass
on your way to the next salvation
hopefully.
How many handles have you lifted in your lifetime
hoping for that soft clack? Is it the sound of hope? Of getting back to that place where comfort resides
until the money runs out?
Is there a rush every time you open a door? Every glove box a potential big big score - a real game changer. Especially this time of year. That must excite you
and I wonder what my Christmas tree looks like through the slightly frosted front window at that time of night.
Do you feel any shame
when you dig through the graham cracker crumbs under the child safety seat?
How come you leave the pennies, man? How come you’re too good for my pennies
and the bucket of baseballs in the trunk?
Take a ball. Seriously, it’s on me brother. Toss it up and catch it, let it roll for a while, and try to remember something wholesome. Try to have a little fun. Try to think about something you did, that made your mama proud. Or does that just make it worse?
Will this be it then? No new doors to open. None that lead anywhere. Just making off with a guy’s Aldi quarter in the dead of night?
I am not being mean, sentient being, I find you fascinating. And I love you in a way. But be more.
Some crimes are quixotic – steal the car next time. For Christ’s sake, steal the car, rob a bank, make something of yourself.
Don't sneak thru the night, crash into it. None of this halfway shit. That’s your generation in a nutshell.
I only forget to lock it once or twice a year. Give me something as unbelievable as those odds. Give me something great. Or leave me the fuck alone.
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