Misery in Serbia

The night was dark, very dark, if only because in the countryside, may it be communist, there are no lights leading to bumfuck nowhere. So I was driving on a country road, lost somewhat in goddamned Yugoslavia.

It had been dark for quite a while. Snow was shining in the car’s lights. Trees and dark forests, frozen fields, not a soul nor even a headlight in sight. Just a clarinet on the radio trying to tell me this was fun.

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Last buoy

Line 9 11 pm
Theaters’ part of town
A couple
The two of them crumbling
He’s in a better shape
Than she is so
He helps her along
All those stairs
The long platforms
Little step by little step
That must hurt
They’re not rich
They would have taken a cab
Yet they find money for the shows
Alive still

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No clue

They’re wearing big jackets
Indeed it’s a cold night
On Line 9
These two Arab guys
Are speaking vehemently
A language I don’t understand
I hear
“No, we don’t blow this train up now
Not enough people”
What they’re really saying is
“Look
My sister loves you
I know you love her
Why don’t you just tell her?”
Doesn’t matter
When people don’t understand
They imagine
Yet no one leaves the train
All too tired for this
But for some
Who just wish

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One day in the life of Michael Jordan

That one night, I was with Tall Christophe. Tall Christophe was just as tall as Michael Jordan only he was white. Tall Christophe was a former French pro basketball player and was now working for some news organization covering the NBA. While Jordan was playing and winning titles, Tall Christophe had to come a lot in Chicago.

I am French also but, if I was living in Chicago, I was working construction and trying to pay the rent. I was then – thanks to a Callahan dick! – living in a small first floor apartment on 17th place, sorry part of town coined in between Mexican Pilsen and the Interstate.

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City of love

They’re already arguing
As they board the train
A couple, going East on Line 9
Sorry part of town
Car full of blue-collars
He tells her something
That I cannot hear
But she bursts out
Furious, Loud
“No I don’t wanna
Meet your mistress”
Time stood still
For a second
She’s holding
A faux sac Louis Vuitton
He’s all dizzy with
Fake sneakers
Poverty trying
I suppose

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