I'm not a fan of where I spent twenty-one years of my life. There's so much better world out there. Catch a wind-surf from immature adults spent upon the crests of golden waves. Drop a tank of gas grounding rubber off back tires. Swig bottom heavy bottles and smile with both eyes. Steal away concentration in exchange for leisure and laugh. Cough out those curdling lungs of smoking puff cigarettes. Lotion and salt. Car shows and War museums. Dancing lights and volatile drink. Blowjobs and greasy burgers, fries. The movies. The freeway to L.A.. From San Bernardino to Santa Monica. The angry and their guns. The idle and their dogs. The dying and their bills. The youth and their hollywood. The selfish and their fables. Here's to you, o, sweaty desert of sun. May your stilling chime never leave my soul without jarring sone.
