Shit this record is great. What a fucking day today was. So I get up and do my normal routine: shower, eat, coffee, cigarette, etc.(well, 3 of these are done in the car) I�m on 128 south, and there�s a part of the highway where you need to merge on to 93 south, it�s pretty confusing if you don�t know what the hell you�re doing, as the ramp is 100 yards from where the people coming off of 93 are merging on to 128. A bit confusing, but most people are courteous and make it happen. So today some fuckhead in a suit on his cell phone, in his SUV cuts me off. In a mild bit of �road rage�, I sped up to pass him so I could throw my cup of coffee at his car (this would have worked perfectly, as I would have been on 93 south in Melrose faster than he could say �I�m a CEO and you are a little person�) . Unfortunately, as I stepped on the gas pedal I heard this big bang under my car, which sounded like the engine may have fell out, or I ran over a big metal thing. I pulled to the side of the road right at the entrance to 93 and the car was dead. Meanwhile I was enjoying some nice �outdoor� in the car as well, which I quickly covered up with scented spray. So here I am at 9 in the morning, stoned, a minute ago ready to make some rich fuck have to get his SUV washed, sitting in my car obviously not going to work. I called AAA. While waiting a policeman pulled up to see if I was okay, I sent him on his way, and then another showed up a little while later for the same reason. After 45 minutes, the tow truck arrived. This guy was charming. Some sort of rash all over his face that I couldn�t look at. The drive was good, as I knew I was going home, and the car would be looked at and all that fun stuff. He then tells me how his �old lady� made him trim the hedges on Sunday. He wanted to watch the Patriots, drink a case of beer, and�be a guy. Anyway, he apparently got poison ivy, or poison oak all over him. He said, and I quote: �I got this shit all over my face, my legs, and my ball bag for Christs� sake�and it sucks� I�d have to agree with him. I gave him a 4 dollar tip on the 36 dollar towing charge. Are you supposed to tip those guys? The rest of the day was spent as a slacker. Watched Planet of The Apes, the history of the Monterey Jazz Festival on DVD and then slept for about an hour. The car is apparently going to be looked at tomorrow, the guy thinks it might be �something big� Wonderful, just in time for payday today. I look forward to another day off tomorrow though. I have some shit to do around here, and I already stocked up on cigarettes, and, well, cigarettes. Perhaps I will finally call the IRS tomorrow and tell them that I didn�t realize I was supposed to put a check in the envelope with my tax return back in April.

Cause it smells like smoke in here. It feels like the summer in here right now. It�s hot and tired in here. I�ve had 7 shots of espresso tonight as of right now. It feels like I could take myself to somewhere else today. To your home. What do you do every night? Who the fuck are you? Why do you look at me like that? The little hair cut and the nose and all of that, the glasses. You can�t tell me your name or anything like that. I see it though. I see your name on the other side of you. I look at you and I only want to do one thing. I look at you and I want to take you. Steal you from work. Fuck work. Fuck everything, and come out for the night with me, just once. We won�t do anything the bible tells us not to do. You will. You kill me every fucking time you just plain look at me. Make me feel like a 6th grader going up to the chalkboard with an erection from looking at Colleen Kelly�s big tits all class. I�m going to come by with a ladder to climb up to your window. I want to watch you and see what you do. I�m not going to stalk you, I want to get to know you the best way I can though. You censor me with every little smile you give me. That�s enough for you. You get this little smile, now move along.

Now It smells like smoke in here. It feels like summer in here right now. It�s hot and exhausted in here tonight. I feel like I could come by and visit you. You would let me in I bet. We can talk about those Jimmy Smith CD�s I told you to buy. We can talk about all of the people we despise. All those arty people with the sweaters and backpacks. You and I, a beat up copy of Beggars Banquet and three and a half hours of conversation about rock and roll disguised as talk about how much we want to fuck each other soon. A twitch in your eye that makes me giggle when I see it. That leather couch you probably have. That gaudy leather couch that your roommates hated. That same couch you threw up on Brads lap that night. That couch that will make those uncomfortable sounds as we drift closer together throughout the night. You make me move to the other side of the couch throw body language, and me and Miles Davis drive home slowly.

How it smells like smoke in here. It feels like summer in here right now. It�s hot and spent in here. I haven�t seen you in so long now. I can�t even remember what the hell it was that I felt in your arms. I can try and relive it in my head, but I really can�t. I have tried that all year with you. Tried to relive that brief moment of time where I felt perfect. I try to remember what the hell driving home was like with the coke heads and the thieves walking the streets was like. I want to come by and see you again. I would even wait 10 years to come by and see you again. I would wait 50 years to come by and see you again. If you could only want to make me feel perfect again. If you could try it out and everything would be perfect. I know you a whole lot more than you know me, I swear to God in heaven.

Lingering smell of smoke in here. It feels like summer in here right now. Hot and worn out. You wore me out in a week. You wore me out like a fucking track star. I felt like I was playing a simple game of hopscotch, yet I was playing Risk with you. I still want you to come over for that drink I promised you a week ago. A sandwich. No games or anything. We could sit around and talk about education and how it didn�t work out for us. We could sit around again and you could try to kiss me again. I won�t shoot you down. We don�t need an audience to get off. I don�t need the help of the bartender. Shut the fucking television off for once in your life, and try this again. Shut your head off. Your head is large. Your eyes are large. Your whole existence to me is large, yet I can�t quite penetrate it.

Just because it smells like smoke in here. It feels like summer in here right now. Hot and done with it all. Shit I hated your voice. You had the most amazing mouth in the fucking world, but your voice was too much. Granted I never even talked to you on the phone, or talked to you outside of one place. What came out of your mouth though. I wonder if you would even be able to kiss good with that mouth like that. Could something good come out of a mouth that spewed so much crap otherwise? You never ended up calling me on the phone, even before you knew what was going on with me. You didn�t want to hear my guitar. You didn�t want to hear my voice. Fine, I didn�t want to hear your either. I don�t want to hear rumors about you. I don�t want you to hear rumors about me. I want us to talk about this someday. I don�t even know your last name yet.

As it smells like smoke in here. It feels like summer in here right now. Hot and quite overdone. The first time we fucked was on the floor of your living room. The last time we fucked was on your couch. The last time I fucked was on your couch. That was the last time I saw you. You intrigued me too much. We hardly knew each other at all. We knew one thing, we were lonely human beings, brought together for one thing, and one thing only, to cure that loneliness. Don�t fucking lie to me and tell me it was anything else but that. Don�t fucking sit there and tell me it was deeper than that. I will fucking die if you tell me that. I don�t have a bit of guilt about anything. I don�t think you do. Please don�t ever fucking think of me as anyone else though.

Knowing it smells like smoke in here. It feels like summer in here right now. Hot and tired again. I needed you to reach me. I�m going to find you soon. Your birthday is in a few weeks. Perhaps I�ll bring a present to work for you. A cake with a file in it, so you can get out of jail. It was always hot with you. We spent time at the summer home and sweated like rabbits. We listened to horrible new wave music and drove a car my grandfather died in. We need to fall in love again. I want you to find me. Please just look me up in the book. I won�t give you any presents this time though. Just misery, and grief of course. I want to find you. I know exactly where you are. I need you to put me on the guest list though.

Tonight it smells like smoke in here. It feels like summer in here right now. Hot and dead to the world. I wonder if I will still see you on holidays with gifts wrapped in old paper, and cards with words like �friend� and �love� in them. I like that we can still sit down after ten years or so and still make each other laugh. I haven�t seen your face or hugged your waist in years it seems. I loved hugging you around the waste like that. The only one to make me perfect for a long time. Perfect enough to never feel like I do now. Now you live a million miles away in my mind. I break out pictures and wish we could take the car up north and look at used books and each others teeth.

Tonight yes, it smells like smoke in here. It feels like summer in here right now. Hot and worn down. You are in some other world now. You are so far away from me at this point, when I saw you the other month, we hugged with one arm each. Your eyes still looked the same. You gained weight huh? That�s okay, it happens to everyone about this time in life. Galaxie 500 has never been the same for me. Candles and discussions about Ireland and every place you wanted to live on. Green farms and hills filled with sheep. You and I were on the level. You and I cleaned each other up. Do you remember cleaning up with me? I think you are completely fucking crazy. I read some of your letters recently. You are most definitely crazy in my book. In anyone�s book, you would be considered a threat to society.

As it smells like smoke in here. It feels like summer in here right now. Hot and worn the fuck out. What a silly boy I was. Starting up conversations and starting up rumors and all sorts of stuff to get you alone with me. It wasn�t like that though. It was always right on the table. The cars were all face up, save for a few of mine. You can tell me now if you knew all along. You can tell me anything from now on. I tell you everything I know. No need to shine the light on my face like that. I swear to tell the truth, the whole fucking truth, and nothing fucking but the fucking whole fucking truth. I can�t imagine what your eyes look like up close anymore. You do something to me every time though.

Doesn�t it smell like smoke in here? It feels like summer in here right now. Hot and lame as a dog on crystal meth. I knew you were my best friend the minute I met you. You were the one. I had a ring picked out and everything. I had big plans and bigger eyes for your mouth. The most beautiful person I�ve ever seen in my life still. I go months, years forgetting you exist. Every time I take out the photo album your little tiny photo comes out. �Oh that�s the most amazing female I have ever laid eyes upon� You are the only one that ever threw me against a wall like that. Threw me on to the third rail at Wonderland station. Kicked me and then told me lies about birds flying around your head. I was in the midst of breaking off another crush I had, and you came along and stole it from me as soon as you had the chance.

So it smells like smoke in here tonight. It feels like summer in here right now. Hot and over tired. You are the number one girl I have hurt for no reason. You are the same as me and I deny it, you deny it, we deny it. In another life we would have been married by mow. You live on the moon now, and I live on Mars. I wonder often why I don't call you every single day. I�ve tried to think of ways to get it out of my head that I still want you after all these years, but I can�t do that. It is never going to happen. I will always hide that from you though. I can never put that on the table in front of you.

Tonight, darling, it smells like smoke in here. It feels likes summer in here right now. Hot and fucking tired. As if I didn�t know you were a waste of my time. As if I didn�t know I would be let down. I knew all along who you were. I was a thief, just trying to break in and see what I could steal. Unfortunately, you had steel bars up blocking me from anything. If I told you it was just your face I was interested in would you care? It wasn�t your conversation. It wasn�t your intelligence. It wasn�t your demeanor. It wasn�t your pleasant voice. It wasn�t your comments. It wasn�t your body. It was you face. That�s all it was.

Damn, it smells like smoke in here. It feels like summer in here right now. Hot and tired as a�something tired. Probably the worst kisses I�ve ever had, but the most intimate person I�ve known. The most fucked up person in the world, you. A Psychologist. A nymphomaniac. A person I have no idea about right now. You tell me what it is you�re about. I ran into you and you ran away. You told me your boyfriend couldn�t get it up, and that�s why you were doing it. I told you your boyfriend was a nice guy. I then felt guilty five years later when I became friends with him, and he invited me in for a cold one.

And now it smells like smoke in here. It feel like summer in here right now. Hot and tired in here tonight. We�re supposed to meet at some point, remember? I though that�s what was planned out. I thought it was supposed to happen like that. I wouldn�t have spent the money on these shoes, and those drinks. I would totally be into taking you up on your offers. I would not hesitate for a minute with you. You seem to want to run away from me, but you really can�t. I won�t let you run away from this. I won�t let this just go down in history as another excuse for bad poetry and worse habits.

The first one is always the one you remember, you never remember the last one. Who made that stupid rule up?

before & after