I Haven't a Thing

May 3 Sa 11:17 AM

Shirelle and I are in another one of her dad's old Mustangs. "What year's it?" I asked. "Sixty-four and half," she said. "It was the first year they were made." It's gold and primer, and loud.

At the Red Lobster now, Shirelle ordered a Sunset Passion Colada Lighthouse. The waitress asked, "Do you want alcohol with that?" Shirelle snorted water out her nose. "Yes," she giggled. I said, "She don't know you very well, do she?"

Home now. The guys downstairs are singing songs on the porch with guitar and tambourine. I can barely think. A car is getting towed out front. Ritchie Valens practiced on his porch. Girls down there speak of Cuban food.

Why can't? Don't?

What's going on in the sports world?

I'm on

I need to buy a new couch. Get me out of the scene. I invited Shirelle to watch videos. I haven't a thing to write, say, or sing.