Holy fuck it sounds like war outside

Here in my new apartment I feel like I live where the war is. The fridge sounds like alien ship defrosting. Faint voices from another backyard sound like cops. Fireworks sound like war, even the ones that scream like some sort of laughing child. I sense an anvil dropping from the heavens when I hear that sound. The patriarch of the evening offered me a hot dog. I said no thank you and took an apple turn-over instead. I already ate my left overs, and my friend hasn't come over to eat with me the fresh. The national anthem plays faintly starting in the middle

"They're $5 a day," he said.
"For sure, thank you." I said. What I really wanted to say was, "How long are you planning on staying here?" I keep hearing, "Oh ok, then I'll go home." And then, "No, you don't have to go home, I'm just saying," something I can't remember now, but it's happened twice now. What do I say when they walk in and ask me what I'm writing about here, in the war zone, when there's hot dogs down stairs.

I think this apple fritter has satisfied my craving for over priced cigarettes found only out in the war zone. Especially if I went to splurge wearing my Obama-as-Mau shirt. The tree is squalking :}

the internet is like a bad dream
where everything is how it seems
people you know aren't anymore
and you question the sounds bouncing off blinds
the images play back in your mind later
images of ideas sprung
last spring and trigger

{omg that was the stupidest thing to fix}