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28 Feb 2006 |
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Look at this photograph
Everytime I do it makes me laugh
How did our eyes get so red
And what the hell is on Joey's head?
Screw the Porsches. Lestat could have them. This was the way to travel. Headlights splashed across me as I cut between the cars, the little rice rocket motorcycle I’d acquired earlier somewhere outside of Chicago responding to the least turn. Otherwise, I probably would have been splattered across the interstate before I got out of Illinois. The wind howled in my ears, pulling at my hair and trying to wind its cold fingers into the collar of my jacket. Only I was insane enough to be out in a Northland winter wearing only a blue jean jacket over my clothes. Pulsing music filled my ears via my little iPod, what I concentrated on even as the wind chapped raw my cheeks. Taking the offramp, I ignored easily the annoyed honking of a horn from the poor guy I’d cut off yet again. You’d think they’d be used to it by now.
And this is where I grew up
I think the present owner fixed it up
I never knew we'd ever went without
The second floor is hard for sneaking out
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