There’s a hole in he hedgerow where everybody stops to pee. We’ve all been partying in the same place since we were 14 and you have to ever always got caught in the banter or risk thinking about getting drunk somewhere else. I’ll miss it but it might take awhile. We inhabit a different space of the house every year; the basement, the deck, the garage, the backyard fire pit, it’s been awhile since I’ve taken a dip in the pool.
There’s another hole where my cat Ezekiel buries his kills. I remember when we tore the deck apart to put a roof over it we found a bunch of rabbit and bird skeletons. The bird skull was, well the only word to describe it is metal (like the music).
Metal like Lady Macbeth
Maybe I’ll go crazy from entitlement like Luke Wilson from Bottle Rocket.
Not necessarily would it be the Sylvia Plath kind of crazy. The options. The tree with all of the figs.
Not the Tom Waits Burma Shave kind of “I got to get out of this small town” crazy.
Hell it’s not even crazy.
It’s unsettled and discontented.
I leave the little social circle to pee on that arch of dead little leaves. I shout back some music suggestion.
“Play The The. You know the damn song I always ask for it! It’s the, this is the day, your life will surely change!”
“Dammit you know I can’t sing!”
Then they’ll leave me be.