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Sick, Later.
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I didn't cause too much trouble at sixteen years old. I snuck out and I stole highway signs, piled 'em up in the hallway up against the wall sidewalks, train stations, construction sites and nobody died, and nobody died. I remember the common room was really cold and the vending machines and the snow was iced over outside. I drove back, and the bridge had felt way too narrow over potholes and through yellow lights. Did I hug you goodbye? Did I say good night? And I thought I'd see you again under the glow of a soft light. Without fluorescent days and nights. With no hum, no network TV. The consolation prize: with resigned eyes I still held tight and with resigned eyes you still held tight. And I'm glad it wasn't like that summer when everybody died. I'm such a guarded guy 'cause I've been hurt too many times. The first time that I took you

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