Two lanes of granite lined memories up Interstate 91 all the way to Burlington.
Diners dotting the weekends.
Days drifting to night.
Two lanes of granite lined memories up Interstate 91 all the way to Burlington.
Diners dotting the weekends.
Days drifting to night.
2nd favorite soundtrack album of all time.
Doesn’t mean it doesn’t live on the turntable.
Forever.
Just means you have to stand behind Purple Rain
Tendrils.
Gums.
And the tear duct that hides in the corner of your eye.
Happy Harry Hard-on and the girl of your dreams…
From 1990 to 1991 I probably listened to this song 4,000 times.
Which may explain the social awkwardness that has haunted me since that year.
It is a miracle I’m alive.
Every time I hear a song like Burial on the Presidio Banks I’m like “That’s it. Can’t get any better than this!”
If I had any prescription drugs around you’d have to update this blog yourself.
Another example of me hating a band’s name and missing out on their fantastic music.
Need to stop being such a judgmental prick. It would be okay if I weren’t so wrong all the time.
This song is like falling out of an airplane.
Taking things this slow requires one hell of a story.
Imagine some stranger using this cadence to you at a bar.
You’d look for the first excuse to excuse yourself.
Come on y’all, let’s get bummed out.
Kerosene lanterns and hash-tipped coathangers.
A 4 door seden the color of an old pharmacy.
Paper scissor hair cuts.
And photos in a shoe box.