Was quite
warm in Falkirk last night, thundercracking night concerto, no air, made me want a fan,
reminded me of sweltering East Rogers Park studio apartment conditions down by heatstroked Lake
Michigan, electric air conditioner humming and buzzing and rattling in the
window, hot to cool to skinsaver, taking the nightlong temperature level down
from unbearable to tolerable, the sound of drug-deal-ending guns quietly
firecracking in the not-too-distant night air, different ballistics thunder, the transient muffled thump of
passing cars booming drill rap, me clad in underwear taking it all in,
threatening sweat, the loneliness-mocking mating ritual catcalls of drunks
coming out of the Oasis ringing out at four ayem, the laughs and snarls of
American accents, the wee small hours 7-11 taquito revellers, the wrecked barstool-truth-revealers,
the mercilessly prowling taxis, the Leona's parking lot pissers and fuckers and
fighters and drug dealers, the painful dreams kept at cheap booze bay, Lake
Michigan a black waiting aquatic smear just half an eternal block away playing
ever-accommodating ghost host to beach sex and wasted parties, staring at the
ceiling and waiting for the end of it all or nothing.
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