Down at the kava bar the florida versions of the hipsters are beating the drums. I can see a school of flesh surrounding the festivities from my kitchen window. “Helpless” is playing on my ipod. Beer, wine, sodas, cigarettes, pipes, chairs and umbrellas… lights a sign across the way. My god I need to connect with something tonight. This is close as it’s gonna get. A fucking typewriter. It just ain’t gonna happen. Jeff Tweedy is asking me if I have any ‘blue eyed soul.” nope. Only the the piercing eyes of white fleshed assassins risking nothing. I wish I could sleep.
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