Prom Queen of California

Fuck this town. The stars are ground down to gravel and paved in the sidewalk for everyone to walk on. It’s a dying behemoth, heaving under the weight of its final throes. Everyday a hundred thousand small town prom queens from all over Nebraska, Idaho, and all the other loser states come here to pay homage to the letters in the hills. Tomorrow they’ll bring me my coffee when I’m too hung over to speak. Back home they were hot shit. Now they spit in my eggs cause they know they’re not going anywhere, but they can’t go back.

They write their letters home. How they saw a movie star. A real-life movie star. They don’t mention he was a shitty tipper. They don’t talk about how many promises they’ve been seduced by. Then they’re thirty and the game is over. Just another weathered face, tired of filling my cup. There’s nothing left for them but they can’t go home. This is just how life is sometimes. But they can’t go home. Then they’re forty. An old apron on laundry day, hanging on the rim of the hamper, stained by strawberry jelly and God knows whatelse.

Fuck this town. If you’re not drowning you just haven’t realized it yet. So breathe in deep as you get off the bus. That haze is your life now. Fingers to the bone every day and you think you’re ready. Ha.

But buy that ticket, because fuck this town. Ain’t anywhere else on earth that’s got what she has. She’s the brightest star in the sky and you know she’ll kill you but the glint in her eye seduces you. She reels you in and sets you down on that couch. She’s all “ra-ra” and kisses your wounds and whispers those promises in your ear as you’re about to fall asleep. She’s a tease, but you’d do anything to have her. She’s the prom queen of California and God you want her so bad. Give it to her hard. Fuck this town.