honky cracker: Good Night, East Cambridge "They bought a round for the sailor And they heard his tale Of a world that was so far away And a song that we'd never heard A song of a little bird That fell in love with a whale
He said: 'You cannot live in the ocean' And she said to him: 'You never can live in the sky' But the ocean is filled with tears And the sea turns into a mirror And there's a whale in the moon when it's clear And a bird on the tide
Please don't cry Let me dry your eyes So tell me that you will wait for me Hold me in your arms I promise we never will part I'll never sail back to the time But I'll always pretend you're mine Though I know that we both must part You can live in my heart"
--Tom Waits
Come home. Nice. Place is empty. Still got a quarter-pack of cigarettes and leftovers from a six-pack of beer. There's even some sesame chicken left in the fridge. Golden. Jeebus, as the kids say. It sure is quiet around here. Guess I could watch some Anna Nicole until I'm too disgusted to stay awake. But hell, what goes better with a beer than a washed-up never-has-been humping poles and personal assistants? Oh, wait. They're re-running the VMAs again on MTV-12. If I can just stay awake for another hour or so, I can see Axl! Speaking of Axl -- you knew he'd show up again someday, right? He's like that wacked-out uncle you had when you were a kid. He'd show up to family gatherings, and you knew something was a little off. He was a hell of a lot more fun than the chocolate-frosted layer cake and day-old potato salad. He'd sit you on the back of his motorcycle and take you off on a ride around the town, even though your parents protested til the day turned to dawn. He shut them up with the roar of his throttle and you were off. Then you get older, and the uncle's gone. He ain't comin' around no more. And he don't come around for a good ten or twelve years or so. Until one day he shows up on Christmas with a stripper for a wife and a Harley with a sidecar. And you're goin' for a ride. Rock. But enough of the VMAs. The hell with Axl. It's time to go to bed. So the bed... it's still rumpled. Didn't make it today. The sheets are untucked, the pillows thrown awry. The remnants from last night that isn't tonight. And ain't it a shame. I don't wanna go to sleep alone. Not now. If only last night could be tonight. Hell, I can still smell her on my pillows. On my sheets. And if I let my mind go just far enough, I can still feel her hair brush against my forehead every time the wind blows through my window. And I guess tonight that's enough for me. At least tonight isn't tomorrow morning. Not yet. For a few hours I can still live inside my own for a little while, listening to Tom Waits and drinking a beer or two. Until that alarm goes off and I have to go back to bein' that guy that everybody else needs him to be. In this moment I have Tom. And my pillows. And my sheets. It's a new apartment, across the river from everything I've known for the past three years. But it's mine. If nothing else, I have my own.
