WE ARE PRICKLY HEAT
Yes, and the gang from Suydam Street came home
again and couldn't recognize a thing. Even the
Melody Bar was gone. The street was a new
whitewash of Mexican colors and Melody Kokola
herself stayed quiet. Silent like a cactus on an
over-watered beach. Intention gone batty. On
every new corner, people just sat. Oh, they're
just waiting for the bus, but there's no bus
to come. No, no bus is coming, and there's
nothing left for waiting at all.
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