I caught a cold and for two days straight my ears have been plugged up, as if my body's saying, "You don't need your ears. You don't use 'em anyway." I still smell tobacco on my fingers. My breath reeks of pot and wine and sex. I don't meditate. I don't pray. But I eat two samosas everyday. The heat seeps into my skin when I get too terribly giddy.
Someday I'd like to be on TV, dead in your lap beside a gun. And I guess we shoulda done like James Dean did, instead of putting on weight and sinking down, down, down. If we had just skidded straight to Souvenir City... Down midwest backseat bumpy streets you sang my Beatles songs with me; I sang your Broadway melodies. Bad harmonies. We were just in time, - just barely in time - for another interview. Now it's too late to crash, too late to burn, too late to die young.
I'm glad the coffee shop wasn't busy at all. No one sits around talking revolution anymore. They all get their Starbucks to go. Yeah, I was sitting there updating my list of enemies when this girl walked in and the Universe kind of stopped. She said, "Love, love, love is everything."
I said, "Okay, I guess, whatever."
She said, "What does that mean?"
I said, "Nothing. It's just good to have a back up plan." You can't talk to her long unless you're drunk yourself then you can talk all night.
Sometimes I think I'm gunnin' for the big time, and that big odometer in the sky just turned over. Maybe I should get into a fight, look for someone's honor to protect? You know, most days I don't want to talk till 8 p.m.
Now I'm sitting in the church of the Holy McDonald's. Santa Maria, Gloria Padre, holy candy wrapper beneath the foot of Sierra Madre. If I peeled away your wrapping would you hold one of your grudges? When we said goodbye I thought was locked eyes for a minute. Was that just my imagination? We were particularly low and mean, but it sure beats sitting around here.