AND YES THEY'RE STEALING
FROM ME AGAIN
The breadloaf crowd is back in arms: ranting about
Boston and bookstores or little-known sites on the
lower eastside. Unknown to them alone, I guess. That
old underground table they speak so highly of is
now filled with salt and mackarel, places to dine,
surreptitious moves and all those stars and starlets
each standing in a line with punched tickets to
their very own Hells. I surmise from the faces
that - no matter what - everyone's happy;
steering straight ahead, or at least
pretending to be.
The breadloaf crowd is back in arms: ranting about
Boston and bookstores or little-known sites on the
lower eastside. Unknown to them alone, I guess. That
old underground table they speak so highly of is
now filled with salt and mackarel, places to dine,
surreptitious moves and all those stars and starlets
each standing in a line with punched tickets to
their very own Hells. I surmise from the faces
that - no matter what - everyone's happy;
steering straight ahead, or at least
pretending to be.
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