Smack Dab

I am in the hometown, not the one that I live in now, but the one that I grew up in. I am in the middle of the country instead of the edge. This little city oozes with lost love; it's in the blades of grass growing up through the cracks of the broken little sidewalks, in the thin streets, the houses that I have been in, the names that I know, the fields that i've rolled in, and the old phone numbers I can still recall. I got off the plane, went to my parents, and haven't left the house since. Everything seems small, decrepit, and in need of a coat of paint. Every step in this place has history, and I don't want to see it anymore. There is safety in satellite television, so here I sit, watching TV, looking out the window, remembering how things used to be, how I should never come back here again, this place looks ugly now.

Well, that was until Cody showed up and took me away from the TV. Cody, wild as ever, hair hanging low on his brow, constantly being pushed backed, a smoke hanging out of the crack of the window of his wife's car slightly rolled down, "there's no smoking in this car, you can have one, because you are you, but that's it," he must have smoked six cigarettes on the edge of his seat like that, talking wildly the entire time, his worker hands gunning the wheel. Cody took me straight away to Earl's place, the smell of smoked cocaine was in the air, and some poor little red head was being fucked on the television. Earl held the door open for us to join the two other guys I didn't recognize on the couch. More cocaine, more porn, and more lies about what's really happening back there, where I live.

I knew I shouldn't have left the house. The hometown is full of lynchian evils. I want to crawl into a warm place, but there is nothing but indifference and congeniality everywhere I look. Something that doesn't exist anymore can't generate heat. Here in the middle.

FUCK YOU ALL.

FUCK YOU ALL.