Dad's wearing a hat in the house again and breathing hard enough to blow Donald Trump off the national reserve's roof. The hat is cowboy in gender. He has glasses, glasses that've seen all the words in the English language and then some in the Indonesian one. He's surrounded by music and his closet has enough Grateful Dead shirts to last him all seven steps of hell. He sold his soul to the road decades ago and all he's gotten in return is a bad night's sleep.
Mom has a crazy smile on her face but not crazy enough to send her to the white wall house quite yet. What a shame what a shame what a shame. She's telling me of a restaurant she needs to go to before it closes and i need to go there too. Theyve never offered me nothing, not even something which i politely remind her of. Shes never listened to an album all the way through.
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