Sun above me
And vultures too
I'll be damned if I don't stop and smell the roses
Can I get some amber ale, and a shot of jack.
I was just over at Tinny and Reg's old place. Yeah, you know the last one. I went to drag over some pallets, to prop up the right front of their old van laying in the grass aside the sheds. It was hard to set inside the back of it, there on the plywood sheet the kids lay in there. Hot too, even with the hatch removed.
Those kids still come around there sometimes. They once had more in store. I surely can't fix that, but I'll add what I can. Even if it's just someplace dry and shady to while away the summer, one bottle-flip at a time. A space is a space.
Their house is falling down, too. I still remember what was here. But the late-spring breeze is already blowing it up and gone, like a cottonwood seed that will fall to rest somewhere else with all the others. To be washed away in some shower, that too will be forgotten.
Hey there, Jone. Nothing ever lasts, does it. Some things are fine for the time they're there, though, right?