“i can no longer shop happily” the clash
you had off that day… that day he shot up the subway car…and the subway people. but you for sure would have seen him with his face all sweaty, wearing those vacant eyes, brain thinking, ” how do i get to katz’s from here?”
you missed being on that god awful R train that day…you’d have been sitting there thinking about work, and him thinking about lunch.
6. in 7 days. spontaneous nosebleeds. chunks of clots pulling out of your nostril, the gush at the back of your throat… you kinda laugh at trying to stop niagra falls while fending off the cat while sitting on the toilet trying to urinate.
my god what else? what else you got for me?
you’re an OCD motherfucker. trying to sop up the blood and leave the apt clean in case you have to go to ER….20 minutes of profuse bleeding. you’re feeling lightheaded….and then it stops, you got work tomorrow….it’s the american way.
and as you walk through the turnstile, you feel that familiar gush. all over your hands, your mask. people. stare. people actually start handing you tissues, paper towels, and one lovely gentleman hands you a face mask in a wrapper cause yours is full of blood….them damned ny’ers – can be assholes and angels all within a split second…
you were feeling punk that sunday. palm sunday, how jesus entered jerusalem like a rock star. you saw that scene while the pistol’s god save the queen caused your nose to bleed again…
then it was dee dee’s 1234 – into blitzkrieg bop…
today. you have a crappy headache. you saw a male crappy doctor who didn’t listen to you. and you’ll wait for blood work results…
you missed work. you miss Mom. you miss the dogs and cats and even the rabbits (pain in the ass to take care of)… you miss those days you shot hoops, and wrote to david, and read vonnegut, and focused on training for a marathon… moments you don’t get back – only in memory.
now. you’re that 165/102- white coat hypertension cause it was 108 at home. you’re that worry about the impending gush-will it be waiting for the R train? what fresh new shooting will that citizen’s app sound off?
fuck salt, sugar, and booze, – i need venice and the stars.
“i came in here for that special offer
a guaranteed personality” the clash