Nothing makes me happier than a clean bed,
with clean sheets like an Egyptian cotton hug, always available.
I don't have to press or wait for my cotton hug.
What happens when your life becomes a bed frame leaning on the wall?
When it is live Green Day on repeat?
(play that Brain song again, Billie Joe)
It takes on the sterility of a 70% ethanol-caricature of a past dream.
The keg needs picking up; I suppose I'll go attend to that.
