Fallen off the perch.
Standing on the bus.

GE Capital bank.
Breathing, standing over me,
breathing, down the back of my neck.

No dragons in these hills, no toast
Just mostly broken things that I must repair
But try explaining that to a credit management representative squalking from deep in a ruptured cancerous bowel.

Was I simply surfing an economic wave, wrapped up in my limited abilities and screaming around like a twat in the hills. Or can I limpet onto this motherfucker and ride it out like Turner knockin’ out the rent from a ships mast in a storm at midnight.
We’ll see.
I’m so broke I’m thinkin’ about buying a banjo, some cut off denim dungarees and a straw hat and dinglin danglin doo and doo doo doo and shit.
Or something.
Stop, persona.