Heading west on US 150 through my hometown/Thursday night/after a trip to the movies by myself/Up In The Air /which was how I had left her 7300 weeknights ago/and realizing that going west on US 150 is absolutely the wrong thing to do
and that's when you have to reverse everything/into a new painful extraordinary heartbreaking course with no co-pilot/or anything like perfectly reasonable thoughts about nights like Thursday nights
and turning around to drive back home
the radio shot me in the heart
he was dead at the age of 91
and I realized a night at the movies without her
even 20 years later hurts like hell
and the only cure is more pain
like hearing that the hero who quit publishing
had finally stopped writing.
[God rest you, Jerome David Salinger - you gave me the older brother I never had (Seymour) and even the goddam Catholic schools will be teaching you 100 years from now]
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