Circling buzzards, penis predators, want to get off you, me, themselves. Jollies come cheap hidden under the nose of sleepy, conservative Appalachian small towns. Little secret culture garden when just beyond, men in fishing boats, beer guts, heads like poorly written country songs. I�m so mentally festooned with awkward happiness even though I am also this screeching bird flying overhead following. It used to take vodka shots and sleeping pills to find some peace, but mind your own Kerouac thing. Mind, I don�t have a right. It�s complex and giving me one.

He circles in his van again. What if I just stick it in your ear, would that make you happy?!? I�m not giving any of THAT away. I�ll take another photograph, it�s the companies, not mine. Ah, the outdoorsman forgot his glasses on his head and a belly full of tacos. Another pass around, shit, I�ll have to leave. What will it be this time? Another �Got a light?�? They are everyone�s �Mr. Wonderful�, me, they just give the creeps. Boyish looks never got me anything other than repeatedly carded and hit on by fellas that look like high school principals or constipated �Mr. Wilson�s� circa the original Denis the Menace TV series. They�ve sucked, (pardon my pun), all the energy out of my favorite park even though we �breeders� lord assuredly over all else. Not interested, please go away.