He always got me tangled up in shit, you see, and always flaked out when the goin’ got tough. It was that way at high school and it was the same way that night at the Gas ‘n’ Gulp. If we had graduated, our yearbook photos would’ve read polar opposites, I bet. His would have been something like “will always drop the ball,” and mine would have read “always sticks to his guns.”
These same mouths believe their own lies and say the shadows of that same bell gave wake to the death that now walks our streets. I, myself, am more inclined to believe it rose from the putrid earth.