spoondance

it all started with a big bang. usually, in this house which, at times was very rarely called 'house' without the prefix of 'crack,' things ended with a big bang. not began. but, as this was another summernight in which only the stars rememeber what happened, the elite primrose hills' 'skid row' gang of hooligans couldn't give two shits less. in fact, with strange weather brought on strange occurences as commenced from here forward.
on happier feet, we would all gather in a circle and have witty repartees until wit's end. but, as already hit before, this was not one of those 'regular times.' instead, bodies lied scattered about. all of us in the gutter, some of us looking at the stars. no one spoke, no one blinked. but if you listened, you could hear things. you could hear all sorts of things if you listened. you could hear the sirens. you could hear the screams. i can think of a lot worse things to hear.
and while i was thinking, we probably heard the worst thing of all. silence. it was dead. dead i say. it was so quiet, you could hear the ice rattling in the shakers in the homes all the way down the canyon. it made our skins crawl. and not crawl like you wouldn't believe, but crawl like you had snakes for veins. well, most of us did by this time anyways.
for kicks, some of the rough and tumble characters sat out on the stoop and shot up fiberglass, ripping up all their insides with a great and oh so terrible pain it hurts, it hurts bad but it hurts good too at the same time. and then they'd come in, blood and bone and sing like canaries. whine like dogs they'd do. and so we'd send 'em packin', we'd tell 'em, "hit the pavement! and i don't want any of you slags to darken my doorstep again!" then we'd throw pennycents at them and it was a riot. a real hoot i say.
and that's why i can't go for that.