Driving this cow through the showroom window,
I took out two couches and a chest of drawers
The guy selling cars got angry. The two
skateboards kids thought it was great.
So, there I was, with blood on my hands
and a piece of glass as large as Idaho. The
coffee machine was on, and I grabbed a cup -
typical car-sales-room crud - tasting like
steel pickles in an iron-foundry lunch.
There's a sweeter horizon somewhere, and
I'm bound-out to find it. Playing checkers on
the noon-bound train, the guy and girl who
just passed me were already walking the aisle.
Isn't that why we do everything? For sex
and glory and all that they bring? Henry
Winkler, it don't mean a thing.