“I believe in you. You’re there. Walking up every street I don’t turn on. Behind every door I don’t open. Sitting at the desk of every parent teacher conference I don’t attend for my son. You’re alive on this dirty rock. Maybe you were born today or you’re one hundred and twelve years old. You exist.”
book quote “Sour Candies” by Jon Dambacher
Another one of yours, Cliff? Devastatingly, yes. But why? Why must you subject us to such an outrageous onslaught of typewritten poetry by none other than the outlandishly narcissistic content orator himself? Because I’m tipsy on foul whiskey and have succumbed to the warm, soft arms attached to the beast of laziness. What? He bought me a Red Stripe. Sue me.
So it goes.