COUNT ME YOUR NUMBER
I will shade you to ten at the milk-stand counter,
where that girl with the tattooed arms is standing.
What's that called then, a 'sleeve'? Yes - a flood of
color, but strangely sinister characters. She'll grow out
of all that, you know, but her arms never will.
There's another wiry one, in the 7am hoodie, and I think
he's watching us. The kind of black guy there that this
train station will throw you for sure : starts with a cigarette
to bum, then change, then a dollar, then still another crappy
story about what a mess he's in. Not my problem, kemosabe.
It seems there's always an intensity of motion and cause - all
these lost people wanting something back. But - as I see it -
if you really want something back, well - first - you have
to give something out. Some good work called your Life, or
your intention, and only then find the peg to hang your hat.-
Nothing doesn't ever come from 'Nothing', my friend.