Saturday, July 29, 2006
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Frank
frank. frank runs a hot dog stand. "franks franks". it is on the corner of 35th and blaine. somehow, this hot dog stand makes his taxes complicated. frank has a heavy accent. lets say its chicago. ok, frank is from chicago illinois. his hot dog stand is a living. it is franks full time job. frank is not particularly friendly, but all hes selling is hot dogs and the occaisional pepsi. he would sell coke, but pepsi cuts hot dog venders a deal. frank is 52. he has been running the hot dog stand about 15 years, and has gained 50 pounds. personally, he likes mustard on his hot dogs, thats it. he doesnt have much of a fondness for relish. frank is balding. his wife left him years ago, but he still has his dog.
frank is unhappy.
frank is unhappy.
it was in our dead suburbia
during the tv land dryspell
beneath the yellowing
of the streetlamps
and jumping out of headlights
that we discovered
the surreal
and the people of dennys
we felt the gravel as we slipped on our shoes
and climed out the window
feeling insomnia like red bull
at times we considered early
and learned how to sleep on a futon.
during the tv land dryspell
beneath the yellowing
of the streetlamps
and jumping out of headlights
that we discovered
the surreal
and the people of dennys
we felt the gravel as we slipped on our shoes
and climed out the window
feeling insomnia like red bull
at times we considered early
and learned how to sleep on a futon.
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