(nickel gripe)

My brain is the wash of sunday lust for something more in the lazy hours in between the routine baccanal and the tired retreading of the workaday world.

Just one fucking thing.

But these days are lazy as hell by nature. it's in their smell. in the blood of the dauntless hangovers marking those of us not christian enough to consider this a day of rest so much as a relative rehab clinic run by hairs of the dog and fried chicken dinners.

Grease and beer to mark my america, land of the free and home of the blase.

And cynics up against the fucking early morning shift.