Years ago we all sat in our desert bar listening to Johnny Cash sing, Sunday Morning Coming Down, and we'd wail along with him, feeling connected, feeling like we were all in this thing together. Johnny Cash though was moving on, becoming famous, had money while we were right where we started, on those plastic bar stools, moaning about Sunday, just as poor and messed up as we were the Sunday before.
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9 years ago
1 comment:
So, I can see those barstools, smell that unmistakeable stale beer smell, and feel the sense of hidden dispair.
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