Well it's 9th and Hennepin. All the doughnuts have names that sound like prostitutes, and the moon's teeth marks are on the sky like a tarp thrown all over this, and the broken umbrellas like dead birds, and the steam comes out of the grill like the whole goddamn town's ready to blow. The bricks are all scarred with jailhouse tattoos and everyone's behaving like dogs. And horses are coming down violin road and ditch's dead on his feet. And all the rooms smell like deisel, you take on the dreams of the ones who've slept there, and I'm lost in the window, and I hide in the stairway, and I hang in the curtain and I sleep in your hat, and noone brings anything small into a bar around here. They all start out with bad directions, and the girl behind the counter has a tattooed tear. "One for every year he's away," she said. Such a crumbling beauty. Ah, there's nothing wrong with her a hundred dolllars won't fix. She has that razor sadness that only gets worse with the clang and the thunder of the Southern Pacific going by, and the clock ticks out like a dripping faucet, 'till you're full of rag-water, bitters, and blue ruin, and you spill out over the side to anyone who'll listen. I've seen it all. I've seen it all through the yellow windows of the evening train.
Goddamn, I love Tom Waits.
Goddamn, I love Tom Waits.
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I like it, though.
YES I am procrastinating from homework.