Let's take a walk.
I was sitting out in the back of the Explorer in the Dunkin' Donuts parking lot, smoking a few cigarettes, drinking my coffee and staring over the foot-ware store at the half crescent, water-down blood smeared moon. My cell phone resting on the bumper collecting sporadic text messages from Grim, Rob and Mel and an eventual call from the infamous skin-head himself. But all the while, feeling the uneasy winds against my skin and arm hair, wafting over my drying contact lenses, there was something amiss.
Through the third cigarette I concluded.
Something just doesn't feel right.
Something is very wrong; that isn't sitting right.
And I want to find out what it is.
For now, I'm starting over.
I'm tearing apart Cobble Stone. Piece by piece I'll re-write it.
It's a mess full of High School angst and hostile stupidity.
Through the third cigarette I concluded.
Something just doesn't feel right.
Something is very wrong; that isn't sitting right.
And I want to find out what it is.
For now, I'm starting over.
I'm tearing apart Cobble Stone. Piece by piece I'll re-write it.
It's a mess full of High School angst and hostile stupidity.