Stupid Joe Speaker and his haunting-making-me-cry-in-the-middle-of-the-day-for-no-good-reason prose.
When I woke up today, the blue paint thing reminded me of another break-up, one long ago when I had my teen-age heart broken. On the day she delivered to me the bad news, she also asked to borrow my new Scorpions LP so she could tape it.
I let her. Regardless of how these women hurt me, I am, as always, the nice guy, which makes me a sap, most likely.
But that familiar itch, it’s not just giving me a fact, it’s telling me I could do something about it. I could pay for the paint. Or loan an album.
I will ignore it, of course. I can’t tell her. That conversation would never go anywhere. But that’s what it is, reduced to another lyric.
“And this light from the window of my car. She’ll never see it.”