B. McGILLICUDDY
Walked home from the gypsy palace cross-faded the other night. It was dark and pretty much everything was 50-87% non-visible. Had to walk with hands out in front and was out of cigarettes so there was no putting up with injury really.
Archie and Veronica (but really Betty's probably the best [via the author 'having a thing for blonds' maybe]) live in a place called 'Riverdale'. Was there that 'other day/night' and walked along the double-yellows, down a street with old-fashioned lights. All round and bulbous and bright, yet not lighting anything but the paranoia, ironically, walking over that river and through those woods to Lil Mexico, where swine flu runs rampant.
The hallucinations were of a girl in a black dress on a bewilderment sunshine and over a dusty swamp next to this literary heartthrob with no money in his pockets. She shipped him off to ga-ga land and there he went! And then she was in the hallucinations and they were gone, gone, gone, like Beat poets or douchebags say it, like 'wasted' or 'transcending reality' kind of, or maybe.
Wish she was here right now. Wish she wasn't 'all alone' in a 'big city' or with 'other people', but that's what makes it all unbearable, and life tends to be that way. 'Until next time'.
B. McGILLICUDDY
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