Oh the streets of Grand Theft Auto San Andreas fill with
smoke. The doorbell rings, I put my controller down, then
pick it up and shoot some things. Later, the darkness hits
reboot and the loneliness increases. She said she’d come back
home when I write my master’s thesis. Oh the hours I spent in
the archives wearing cotton gloves, shuffling photos from the
Ninette Sanatorium Halloween parties. Emaciated ghost hiding
in those curtains’ creases, I’ll let you haunt the world when
I write my master’s thesis. No more marking first year papers.
No more citing sources. So I left home, cried the bumpy ride
to Highway 23 and started west. They’ll be there to say that
I don’t need to take their stupid test, greet me with banners
and balloons, and my hard drive smashed to pieces. Nothing
left for me to save, when I write my master’s thesis. It’s
all going to change when I write my master’s thesis.
