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secrets -- on the other.
Of course, the band split up, one day, leaving us all broken, impoverished people -- sort of like the end of a movie where, after driving tons of shaky nitro-glycerin bottles thousands of miles across badly-frayed, narrow rope-bridges in a rickety old bald-tire truck, the hero dies suddenly from falling off a chair while changing a lightbulb in her bathroom, on a warm, quiet evening in the suburbs. |
I still thought I had maybe one final chance to put my fucked-up life back together, so I enrolled in Nuclear Button Junior College. This was the only school where you could be trained for the minimum wage job of sitting around all day, over some old leftover nuclear button, waiting for the hotline phone to ring. Their school motto was: "Hey, don't stop being a whore on my account."
Book: TABLE OF CONTENTS |