Monday, December 8, 2008

Like Citrus, A Kiss

It was again all over the Albany plan which was followed only at the heart's insistence. Heard her singing an Albany song and that was it, I was veritably slain. Days later you wake up in tangled sheets alone, dreaming the Albany dream. Let's start the Albany engine and get the hell out of here.

Then, in the night, an Albany whisper arrived, as if the usual glass windows weren't sufficient. A nickel for each loud man who fought the Albany battle to its standstill. Of course I can keep it to myself, haven't you heard of the famous Albany secret? Together they hefted an Albany bottle and drank to their future.

Tucked in the Albany shelter was a fine setter but the landlord was vehement. Up and over the Albany crest and then the ash-ridden vista'd be the rest of your life. Am I getting it at least, at last, the Albany knack? She looked up and she was 42 and so she cursed the Albany time stealer.

My theory involves the Albany bang, lots of beer, and a proclivity for spending way too much time with your memories. The Albany letter will follow me to my grave no doubt. Darkened stage, faint light comes up on a bit of laurel wrapped around a barber pole, the audience gives a low murmur of appreciation, a hum really, and you step slow and silent before them to begin the Albany dance. 'Twas like citrus, a kiss with a bit of blood, the Albany sensation.

Trust me, crack the Albany joke and the only one's who'll laugh will be the ones who bought the farm years ago. Same day, different Albany story. A flap of skin dangled uselessly off his thumb as he fumbled for the Albany handle. Stuck like a glue horse in the familiar Albany wound.

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