in the morning i come to
outside the LANTA station
forget what i said to you
no you don't deserve my rage
and when i go to work
in my new tan shirt
fredo sits still in class
as i fall through the office glass
"after dusting off my jacket, which, at this point, was the color of dust, i would eventually make my way into an elevator. inside, the sound of artificial trumpets, cruelly distorted by negligent recordings of am radio frequencies, would be playing over the elevator speakers, and i would have to pretend that i did not exist. on the fifth floor, the elevator would stop, and i would be pissed. in might walk a blonde haired lady, and i, ignoring the large open gash on my check, would be left to wonder if i should have shaved that morning. at the top floor, i would obviously exit, and be forgotten by any other elevator occupants"
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