Mama and Papa gone away, They don’t want to know us anymore. Half of us Longhairs, Queers, Punkers, and Junkies. Got no table to sit down at on Easter Sunday.
“What’s your point?” I would remind myself that that was my original question, but it seems pointless. I’m too stubborn to listen to anything I have to say.
Mac sat on the couch and thought of the thought he’d just thought. He couldn’t remember sitting on this couch before, or ever seeing this couch before. Hmmm.