Here he’s sitting on a chalkboard in mid-May, riding it for all its worth, working out some rough shit for the tough kids to make light of. And she’s all tapping those shoes for an hour, tap tap tapping while he keeps sweating the white powder onto the board, holding onto his little piece of work and making this work work work, if it can.

While he’s sitting fuck under Mr.Government’s quickly stiffening teat, he sweats the details out of three button down shirts, and eats up the days while spring semester shits down his neck. And while click clack clicking roughs up brains, while pencil scratching devours words, there’s some kind of bird caw cawing at windows all along 8th street and waking up the sounds of getting done.