Ok now it’s getting fairly predictible. These songs playing as I drive up California to Lincoln, up to the freeway. Or down Venice all the way to Crenshaw. I worked in lessons form Fran Banish right before work, or else at the end of the day. That was how the guitar got left in the trunk.
I played in that atrium/entry foyer on quai malaquais. It would be dark, but early, while Jennifer and Sidney made dinner or while jackson was getting his bath. I was in the glass and could hear echoes off the cobblestones.
I'm not fucked/ not quite bled white
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