feeling the new wave music.
no escape.
and little chance of surrender.
I correspond with Anna.
from the past.
her boobs are bigger now.
I dance with her friends.
one of them calls me a poet.
who?
is very much dedicated to being a poet.
she is right.
and I agree to die.
I don't know when.
my mother was born not far from here.
I wish the Saturday Evening Post was still around.