10/23/2020
Floyd
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This is the thumb
That's the thumb asking if I can get a ride. Anywhere for now. Oh, no one stops in the end. Why should they? My appearance is not inspiring confidence. You think about the smell of their cars, the clean seats, the smooth windows. They probably hallucinate at the mere sight of me, the bottles of their window cleaner
And when they open the door for me, it is the alcohol from my breath that repels them, that soon copies itself like a liqueur into the aroma of old earth, into the smell that my coat carries, the clammy brown floor on which I slept. There are the remains of the smoke from the musty cellars, cleared out for a meal.
I should wash myself, at least rub my coat with moss, then when it smells greasy and soapy after the rain. It lasts surprisingly well, a couple of hours at least. Forty years ago, they all smelled like this in the evening. Like ship's bottom, or cipher, I forgot That's the thumb. He asks if I can get a ride. Anywhere for now. The black Shelby Mustang is probably stopping
(With thanks to Verbena)
I should wash myself, at least rub my coat with moss, then when it smells greasy and soapy after the rain. It lasts surprisingly well, a couple of hours at least. Forty years ago, they all smelled like this in the evening. Like ship's bottom, or cipher, I forgot That's the thumb. He asks if I can get a ride. Anywhere for now. The black Shelby Mustang is probably stopping
(With thanks to Verbena)
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