Our Man in Europe, dave delacroix... Last Exit to Tesco.
dedicato. Jason Eklund.
The Last Exit to Tesco. There was NO WAY to turn around. She protruded her discount coupons, I should have fell at her knees...But then, creative mind, she told me she was a HIT-MAN from Detroit, Michigan. A resident in CHICAGO, Illinois. She had ALL the post codes off pat. For a NANO-second I believed ...which is when she shot me in the groin. Relationships, somehow, are born like that. Blood, death, GROIN. There-s NO swirling lights, no Ambulance, no SOCO, no people just looking for Clues. Just 2 people outside, a sad Highway, a Motel. Generic hotel room. A T.V. with Cable. The sound of a 16=Wheelers grinding by. A Bag of IMMEDIATE, in the room...the Milk, Pot-stickers, Salsa, maybe a Salad-Tortiers on the side by the dresser, or a GUN SHOT WOUND that never found it-s mark. Non casualty. Like a Sombrero in the morning air. And that piss-ass Mustang Auto, busted tail pipe. on its way to Tuscon, Arizona with my ONLY electric Guitar.
c2019, dave delacroix.
No comments:
Post a Comment