dreams about airports, late for work, bloody faces slapping against granite steps, and a handful of parakeets chittering in the other room--makes me miss the cat, makes me miss the narrow brick alleys where Thomas Paine kicked Ben Franklin in the teeth, makes me miss William pissing off the tower in the center of town, makes me miss the stack of books, makes me miss real people, makes me feel like Mr. Smith in my blue shirt and black shoes. walking to the bar where Marlon loves his metal [and Kryptonite especially], where Carlos is an asshole, where Adam sucks down disgusting bumblebee cocktails on his break from the grocery store, where i sup on butter bruises and don't scribble on napkins much anymore, where i walk back home drunk, brings about the same feeling as always. wide avenues and boulevards lined with Dr. Seuss trees bring comfort some days, but no shelter from the bleating sunshine. "You can have the whole world, or be satisfied," with cozy mornings in an empty room, with old movies of fanciful romance, with too many hours in a day. the temptation and the necessity of miles along dark roads, of toting Kryptonite in a back pocket, of riding down the hill only to come back up, is almost