The last two times I ran away, my sprints ended in your arms. At Tampa International and an abandoned Greyhound terminal in Ocala. Not quite St. Pete or even New Port Richey, but close enough for my geographic explanations to others. Your nickname in jail then, not surprisingly, was Florida. It was easier than Happy [...]
Let’s clutch and kiss and sing and shake. Tonight, let’s try to levitate. You Catholic girls, you start much too late. Baby, let’s transverberate. — The Hold Steady
The Wave revisited (again)