two day's worth

parking garages remind me of you.  you, the red atm machine in the bar across the street, your first draught guinness, the take of whit beer and pizza on your breath in the hotel bathroom.  i used to stand still, but then i met you.  we can see every parking garage in every small city in the country, honor.  the lights will illuminate oil spills in fresno, burnt rubber in charleston. or anyone.  we cuddled on a bean bag once, and i hadn't slept.  you still say you were unsure of things back then, but i can't believe that. you held me by the pinkie once, on the floor of your dorm room. you kissed my ignorance after i quit.  and what of us now?  we're stains on a capet, cigarette ashes down a shower drain, a replaced street sign between worcester and berry.  i forget these things.  sometimes you mind and others you don't.  but to me, none of it matters so long as we're turning double plays. <$3

scribble a few things off the list, but it still goes something like this:

days in june without rain: one

dollar bill airplanes: two
pages left in book: fifty-eight

new album i've never heard: au revoir simone - still light, still night

record from jerry's collection: this rediculous album

linkity-links:

song: defiance, ohio - the list

purchase at no idea or download the entire album for free at archive.org, because the band is just that awesome.