The scene is the local pub. My friends are talking about the wicked slide out of the 30s and how there is always a hint of sex on the brain. How they always kinda know it's around. I nod my head. We all nod our head and it's like we need a fucking club to join or something. Head nods and beer gulps and there is more than a little truth in this. It's like when this boy in jr. high told me that ADIDAS stood for All Day I Dream About Sex and his braces shone like a sparkle. I ran to my locker and pushed Bonne Belle lipsmacker on my lips. I laughed. I ran my hand through my hair. I closed my eyes and I opened them and I am here. I walk down the street now and look all around. It's not like I am gonna do anything about it, but I look. And it's like I want you to know I am alive. And I have the key now and I know that the words were chosen to fit the letters.
We all throw ourselves at the target, the brilliant shining spot we wish we could understand.
We are all the same.