So an epitaph in another epitaph. In a alley, blowing in the twilight, a tabloid sheet, looking for a puddle.
T-Bone Blues (“…gonna change my way of living baby, move across the deep blue sea…”) ended the night and lingered toward the back of my mind like an incantation. And then too much whiskey, too many cigarettes and too long without sleep presents its badge and credentials and states without feeling, “I can’t do this anymore.” Maybe there was no whiskey — no cigarettes either. Maybe just the goddamn taxes. But six will get you ten, when that feeling comes…it’s a dark and stormy night. And right after Sunday, Stormy Monday will begin bright and early. Pretty much, right on time.