diary entry on an early Sunday morning from the belly button of the old country

everyone here drinks too much and smokes too much and once again
I feel 2 years out of touch with the popular trends
I see at least one fox a night now, gone are the raccoons I once knew
never before have I longed so much for some kind of fancy hat to wear
everything’s made of brick
that’s cool, I dig on that
brick can talk to me the way that steel and glass never could
nobody feels offended if I act like I’m ready to flip over a table
they just extend a hand and offer a shot with a kind word
I feel like if the rent wasn’t killing me
I would have the collateral to spare more smiles