Zine Material

Short.
I really wanted a cigarette. I couldnt find a re-fry that hadn't been re-fried since that night before i'd fried em all. It was vicious cold out there, all the streetlights were as vacant as the shadows underneath them. Diggin around in the bottom of my bag I found evidence of that night past, butts and crushed beer can stinking in a goodway since smell takes you back in memories. Lucky me about four dollars worth of shiny Abes. So I wrapped myself deep in as many layers as one can without limiting his ability to ride. Rollin my bike down the stairs into that aweful biting November night I cursed my adiction and loneliness for perhaps a fellow head would have a butt to send my way and stay warm. Pedaling wasnt keeping me that way with the wind cuttin into me like the words of alota girls I never wanted to hear. That shops only a mile I think, a long frosty mile thats scaring me to stare down. Down the empty boulevard because most cats with cars are sitting pretty with plenty of smokes by the fire. Not me jangling down the way shivering and ringin with a pocket full o coins gunna get traded real soon. I got my head wrapped like an Arab so I dont hear the hissin snake beneath me. But godamn I feel it front wheel gettin all wonky and wont steer straight. I round that corner and she almost washes out right like that, but the shops here basking in cold dead neon. I know I got enough coins for a pack o checkers so I lock the deflated steed and head in like a new man not a care in the world. He woulda given me a packa Checkers and matches had he had em but I wasnt first. Ho no I was dead last there aint a pack I can afford in the buildin and this man aint no saint cuz he dont care about me at all. Back through that auto glass door with a ding and i spot a little bit o glory right there like its gunna snow any second and shes keepin it back. Walks right up to lookin round like its the last thing im gunna see, and she wants some help. Gone little girl I aint got no help to give ya dig? But shes tryin to keep warm too just aint old enough to get that fire water. You get a pack o them smokes little one and i'll be your fiery saint right here. And so I still got that four dollars wortha pennys ringin and janglin away right next to a packamatches and a little orange fire in my hand. Ya see she got her warmpth and I got mine cept i'm still cold as the moon. Least I got my smokes, no filters and fresh. Not a crumpled beatemup box like I always do. I dont even care when I walk that frozen mile right up the stairs and under the sheets. Slap on another record and watch those big snowflakes drift right on down past the empty streetlight keepin no fool warm but me.

Threat.

Foul Loach!
Not with the rock,
you smoke
Pave stone
colliding with skull bones
Take my bike?
A ruined man
you shall be

Dirt nap.