Monday, November 10, 2008


Everyone had a brown paper bag and all their directions were different; often they told a story. Generally, it was like the song “Brandy” only with additional verses about county jail and community college. We called our friend: we were at a discount liquor place. He said they all were. Then he laughed and something fell over. It got dark. We stopped at a bar to eat. It was happy hour; then dancing; finally new friends and their paper bag. Going home she started crying because we never found our friend. I ran over a banjo on the way home.

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