someone put lipstick on this city. someone’s trying to pretty it up. as if you could fool us. as if that’s all it takes to fill in the cracks. are we to believe the vermon aren’t scrapping it off just as fast as it goes on? but maybe that’s the point. something to keep us busy, to make it look like we are trying even though we know that attempts are futile. saving babies on a sinking ship. but the flowers are fragrant. and at the right hour of the morning, before the world is spewing forth its fumes, the lady almost smells sweet. and with the lights down low she almost looks attractive, romantic, pretty. like a whore on the corner under the streetlight. oh and with all this money to burn in our pockets we are such a hero!
