it's just another Wednesday at, oh, about 3 AM
and I'm drinking French roast coffee
there's trash in every corner
there's little bits of paper towels from
when I was sick,

my Chinese calendar is on the wall,
and a Beatles poster next to that
I hope I'm painting a picture for you
cause, I've got nothing

sometimes I look down at my blue shirt with remnants of cardboard stuck to it, and think I'm a worker, not a writer, but then the stories start up in my head.

I think about you a lot
and all your stupid habits,
and all the shitty things you did,
the drugs are legend by now,
whispered into the ears of housewives

we drove to Methadone clinics together
my first instinct, is to say,
that you haven't handled yourself well
but then,

you make me laugh, you're funny as hell
you brought the McDonalds in the mornings,
and, I guess, you came back every time
you rubbed my back for me, sometimes hours

and I remember in the hospital room,
that you waited for hours, waited, waited, waited
and if nothing else,
that'd have been enough

I find I'm like you now,
I drink coffee by the liter,
Harrison Ford movies remind me of you
and when I see a broken sink,
I want to be like you and fix it