I love the laughter within my barbecued mind.  Faint echoes of Cherry Sprites  pierce a fragile silence even when there is nothing going on. They skip down  the pathway to my paper-mâché heart. They have found a home within me. We trade love for shelter. Do you hear the music? Hear it? I can pick up radio stations just by opening up my inner ears. Listen, “Well he talked all night about the suicide & how it kicked him in the head when he was twenty-five …”  Think I’m pretty? Do you? Do you respect me? Will you ever? I’m not a convict. I’ve never been a felon. You look at me as if I am. You think I’m crazy, don’t you? Well, get this. I  might be crazy but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong. I do community service because I  truly want to help others any way I can. I’m not forced by any court to do this. It’s my way of giving something back to all the little people who have helped to make me who I am today. Oh my, here we are already. That was fast. Anyway, this is my exit, Hollywood and Vine. You may come up to my place for a while … if you wish. Sip some wine. I don’t bite. Well, I do but I won’t. If you’re really good and treat me right, I might even let you spend the night. Oh, you hear that? Do you?  Listen. Hear it?  “Mister Sandman, sing me a tune … ”

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