Her Tuesday Night Call; A Precursor to My Friday Night Loneliness OR From Her End of the Line Alex Feldman Yeah? I was reading A woman named Lola No, Lolita is different I believe this one is of age Because Lolita wasn’t Never mind Haven’t seen it It might give me ulcers You know I’m not big on TV You know I’m not big on phone calls Now I’m writing random words on my wall in black sharpie They are very ugly Still, they make me happy I have to go I see a roach sitting atop nine hard-boiled eggs in a basket He seems entitled He needs to know he’s not king around here Gotcha son-of-a-bitch! (heard from a distance) Now he’s in the cold On my windowsill in a glass (Crack!Crack!) I’m peeling an egg So he can see whom they belong to Dume Dume Dume Dume Dume Dume A Jazz baseline
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