I'm Just Watching The Whores Parade For The Price Of Fame

I can't help but feel sorry for my hotel room's mini-bar. It has to be thinking that Bin Laden was lurking behind the Toblerone..... the way I raided that thing last night would make Colin Powell envious.

I always thought muscle memory was shit. But lately in bed, I've found my arms tingling along the insides that used to wrap around you.

I'm the kid that likes to point out that motivational speeches only benefit the speaker. You know.. I'll always be a "means to an end" kind of kid.

I loved her before the lights. She's the only one I've entered a relationship with that makes loss a comfort zone. I miss my parents, I miss our trip. L Train, 3rd Base Line, NY Mets, Batting Practice, Harry Carey signing dirty baseballs from my mit. I love that the only thing I hold onto at this very moment is the fact that I can't even remember the score from that day. That's freedom, that's love, that's living for the moment and never looking back.

I'm tired of showing up just to disperse the crowds..... like I'm some sort of twisted fire marshal.... "folks please make your way towards the exits... in an orderly fashion..."

No need to worry, this is just a routine alarm to remind you that at any moment this could all fall apart.

Chicago is for lovers, the rest is for others.

PS: heroes will surprise you in flattering ways.

writeyourselfinandout