It rains like it did when I was born.
I wake up to music and breakfast with the friends, then I read Jason's journal and wonder when I can start touring again.
My nails are purple-pink, my tummy rumbles, Marion mumbles something about a room somewhere, La Rata is gone, Charlie downstairs.
Richard didn't piss me off half as much as he could have had- maybe cause he's pretty. I wonder if when all this started- 3.9 billion years ago, the consciousness that is me already mumbled and rumbled and wondered if Jason, if touring, if Marion, if some room, if Charlie downstairs, if Richard, if somewhere my nails are purple-pink, if it rains, if I...
No comments:
Post a Comment