Bear was a white guy, with green eyes on the red path.
Counting Crows happened to be in the air at the shop and I remembered the evening of the concert. The street around Bimbo’s in SF was packed as we neared the club. Searching for a parking spot he began a mantra, “…she stomps out of the diner… her runs after her… she says take me home angrily… he stomps off to the car…he revved the engine…. they pull out... there is still two bucks on the meter…” Inside a circus. A curious blond mop of hair eats the microphone. It had a great beat and you could dance I to it. I sat rolling cigarettes poorly, but still smokeable, wondering if the show on or off the stage was best.
I tend to personify everything.
Everything from lint to car engines.
A bit like listening to a foreign language and pulling out what sounds like English to understand it.
Not interested in drawing unless the subject breathes. I am no background story boarder. Another one of those, if I wake and am it, great. However, I would not want to study for years to be it.
The truth is in plain contradiction.
Like chasing a phantom, yeah,So seemingly random, yeah.
The truth is not easily handled.
Not enough time.
Messages found written in the unfinished.
Honestly, is there any difference in a costumer and a bag lady?
Remember Jayne, do not get dead lining mixed with flat lining. -LH