Duane Swanstone

1 June 20XX

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COMMAND RESPECT

Summer’s here, again. There ain’t shit to do—days are slow—but there’s trouble in paradise. There goes my good will. There goes my kindness, sure as hell shows me what I can get for it. I’d’ve done better not gotten involved. Ah, oh well. Who gives a fuck.

Stupid… fuckin’… bullshit… just some words on the tip of my tongue. It tastes like hot rain, roadkill and impendin’ doom. The summer is a weird time. You got bloomin’ flowers and dead squirrels.

Smashed flesh blows into the shrubs. It looks like a pencil mark on the street. It looks like someone took a bad eraser and tried smearin’ the damn thing out. It’s a premonition: dead squirrels, pretty flowers, Miranda Fann, Japanese club. How long can I keep this up?

Miranda Fann is the little girl I used to draw sidewalk chalk with. I remember protectin’ her from big kids on the black top. She always smelled like a boy. She didn’t have many friends for the longest time. It’s good to see she finally made some.

I sorta remember Jim. I think we took English together. I have nothin’ to say about him. He seems alright.

Lisa and Rosa used to talk. That’s how I met her, in fact, was through Rosa. She looked kinda like a street person, but she was cool.

Shingo? Never saw him before, know jack-shit of him. I don’t like him already, though. I don’t know why.

Maybe in the end I’ll make some new friends. Maybe Miranda’s right about these people. Maybe all that shit isn’t for shit. Maybe, maybe not. Maybe I’ll get a piece.

“Hey, what was it you wanted me to call you again?”