Sing Hallelujah to them again.
The path is being peeled back.
The soccer team is losing its
sponsorship, and now no more
new shirts will be printed.
I came here with a heavy heart.
I am sitting in the dog park, idly
discussing things with that Russian
kid I know. He's got some weird
swagger going, all the time. And
his Bloomingdale's girlfriend
kills. They're breaking up, he
says, now. She's taking
both the dogs.
Then he says 'getting', he means,
not 'taking.' He's moving on, to
go back to some some school
out Boston way, after finishing
this semester at Rutgers. 'I always
hated those two damn dogs; and
now they just look like her.'
None of that was true, of course;
the dogs look like themselves, and
she was pretty hot. But how to console
a classy, Russian, rich kid with a
powerful family here? Three days
later, I guess I should mention - and
jumping time a bit - the two dogs
were in the park. With some other
guy I'd never before seen or met.
Open mic big bank takeover, and I
guess that's just the way things go.