*Originally written on a Hyatt Regency letterhead, this poem was turned into a spoken word house music track and released on Fluential Records (UK) in 2002, with music produced by Wilson and Steven Mestre.
It was about 6:15 in the morning I’m drunk and I’m high and I’m in Chicago now, I had just stumbled out of some club, somewhere I can’t even remember, and um I walked to the corner to hail a cab and after five empty cabs just passed me by one finally stopped Read the rest of this entry
It’s about 6:15 in the morning. You’re drunk and you’re high. And you’re in Chicago. You’ve just stumbled out of some club. Somewhere. You can’t really remember. And you wobble on down to the corner, scanning the streets around you.
You reach out your slumbering arm to hail the first cab you see. He pretends not to see you. But you don’t think anything of it. Again, you reach out. Again, another cab passes and again and again and again.
And you know your neon red jacket is glowing majestic sparkles off the rising sun, so it’s impossible for them not to have noticed you standing there all shiny and shit; your shades silvery cool like mirrors reflecting Jim Morrison before he became fat and sloppy. Read the rest of this entry