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To Matthew Wascovich's previous pieceNew Elements Suck My Address Book
Quickly. Look around for the girl you just lost running down the steps toward the old arcade. Through cross ventilation and ducts and tape and sweat and hair and underwear. Left a phone message, “Help! Help!” I miss you. You cut the saw off the planed wood, needing to break for water, turn down the electricity, it is shocking her. Quickly, duck and recover. Put your hand back in your pocket, I’ve touched the airplane. Don’t leave. Don’t leave, not now, or today, or tomorrow. Oh, you will call. Okay, you will call. I sold my last plasma to the mall, the downtown mall, they pay the best. I would go with you to eat, but I am weak. I am weaker than most of you, but you keep saying I am strong. I threw-up sand from last night. The beach wrote my book, again the beach wrote my book, and the pages have swam off into the the lake toward Canada. I love customs. I love their checks. I balance the ballpoint pen in a pocket full of nerd, me coming onto you, like a full-on nerd. I heard. Quickly. I heard. The digital photography really worked. I admit, I wanted you to use Super 8 film, but you were right, the colours are fantastic and we didn’t use up all of our money or time. Cheers for now mate. I’ll see later tonight at the show, bring my bass.