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This can only be a sample of what's to come-keeping all bad promises of better years and leaving out what's undone. We'll file the paperwork and hope for the best. But in the years to come we've got nothing or maybe less. It took 60 years to account for these basic needs and a lot fewer to cut spending and rush us to our hands and knees.

In good will gesture crowds color-coded words stand on tiptoe to shout, necks crane sore to watch people not like them beaten, attacked, and crushed beneath; flag-waving arms that learn to hit flag-burning infidels glistening with spit; flag-waving arms stretched upwards in support of white-minded individuals working to curb freedoms once fought for by peole in picket lines, by people on busrides, by people behind bedroom doors, by people in abortion clinics.

The fixture everyone knows; Cool Breeze fidgets on the corner of 1st Avenue and 13th Street. I haven't seen him around since this summer. He's just back from New Orleans, just in town to gather his things. He's turning 50 years old this week. I never thought of him as 50, just slightly ageless but tired and worn. Sometimes even tired eyes don't get torn. Talk of time and West Virginia and easier ways to just get by. From spare change to spared and changed. He's getting things in order to leave Wednesday. he says "I'm glad to see you before I left. Nobody won't ever see Cool Breeze here again...

In Florida forests of our forefathers' day, hunters waited patiently for game. In modern day Florida's deadbeat main-streets their counterparts lay in wait for the same between the wig shops and the dollar stores. Ill-eyed cops setting up shop, cruising the park. We see not much has changed but context, vernacular, date and name.

They put cloth bags over the heads of those in the smoking section and tape over the eyes of the ones whose skin will smoke...sentenced to death they'll die with erections in the smoking section and shit in their pants in the smoking section and the ones who pull the switch are dropped off discretely, or so i've heard...

I saw you in the hall, a charming ROTC doll, staring at the girl walking just steps ahead of me-when she passed and you stared at her ass, my eyes met yours and I felt like I was the one invading...when I saw you staring I hope you felt like shit because we're probably more alike than we care to admit.

Is this friendship like a cocktail party at which we speak with no direction or end just to circumvent silence. That's what our words or is that why we're friends? I'd rather be an asshole than accomodating and conversational. I'd rather be an asshole than functional. I'm a party animal, I kill conversation.

Now I know where the squares all go, and I'm paying money to be involved. What makes me think I'll be absolved from the ranks of the assholes once I'm on the payroll? Maybe I should reconsider before it's my turn to stand and deliver--make no mistake at all, they hire to build these walls