Dorothy Parker at the Algonquin Suitors stare across the bar, singing sonnets with their eyes, as if praying for one last deadly line.
to avoid responsibility, i blame my father for everything instead, i wander through / these desolate streets / broken homes with broken sinks / in search of someone
Small Town as The Palimpsest That I Keep Trying to Reset Back to Original Childhood Happiness Would we have been friends in a different town? / This town is all I have of you now.