I DON’T FLY

I Don’t Fly Walking to work There was an abandoned cart With signs inside The cardboard kind, dirty Unfinished With luminescent paint Where did they get that paint In capital letters I DON’T FLY That was it   I don’t either What’s the point Should I give money do you need money What are you telling me   I know we don’t fly   Still they plead To remind me

How to Be Fly as Shit

One time I was in Hamburg, Germany and I got a text from an ex-boyfriend that made me really sad. Well, a few texts to be honest. He’s the kind of ex who you’re not on speaking terms with, but somehow convinces you to engage in conversation and thereby manages to make you sad from a different continent. (Yes, that’s an official category of exes. You know exactly the kind