My friend Joe first burned these CD's for me six years ago when I was working two jobs, seven days between 85-95 hours a week, killing myself driving the wedding dress flavored vanilla hearse shaped station wagon I would later live in across the dowry faced arteries of the bluff in medias shifts, stopping at the emerald plateau of Barnes and Nobles (sometimes twice a day, since that was the only starbucks in town at the time) to slurp down venti's coffee holding the miniature caffeinated silo in my hand as I escaped in the country the tea bag hued cupola of heavy clouds overhead pregnant and lachrymose with the acidic rain tears of the planet keening a picaresque sad clowns smile over the helm of my dashboard the silver vacuity of the prairie swallowing my every direction as I steered, aimlessly, into the country, driving, smoking, fantazising about the rustic barn I would one day live in and refurbish because my books would be published and I would then have money.
I remember the applause her lips would break into as I would watch her smile while stopping in for coffee, flirting with the scarlet haired mermaid with the leprechaun reverberating eyes who would aesthecially abscond my romantic advances ( I would later find out she was engaged) every time I would invite her out for a drink, sometime.
Today the patter of rain reminded me of the wished-for sting these ballads delivered, the soundtrack of sad countenanced wet asphalt colored afternoons, killing time between shifts, the dips and swills of the late afternoon clouds bulging overhead like a limp sail.
Even thinking about the beautiful girl who once worked at Starbucks and smiling back at me all these years once again.
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