I was a battered suitcase and you were a threadbare house coat. Together, we waited.

I worked hard and it was raining when I finished. When it rains it pours, and I sleep alone wet. Picture two people on the edge of a cliff like in the movies; they are holding onto each other by the left wrist, one person dangling and the other lying flat and holding fast; the victim is screaming "don't you let go of me!", and the savior's shouting "I'm not gonna let go of you!": Now, which one are you? I'll tell you this. You're my hero and at the same time I'm not going to let go of you. Who gives a fuck if it's raining.


Not to deny the import of melancholy. Like Kevin Bacon said in Footloose, "sometimes there's a... no, ummm... it's a time for when all you... when it is the season for the time when...": I haven't seen that movie in a real long time.


It makes me happy to think that we'll soon be someplace a little different.


We will live like kings.


We will party like stars.


Kings made me think of this...


More soon.