Artist	Song	Buy
built to spill	randy described eternity
death cab for cutie	company calls epilogue
elliott smith	pitseleh
the long winters	it'll be a breeze
nada surf	inside of love
owen	decloration of incompetence
pedro the lion	priests and paramedics
the postal service	recycled air
the starside eight	crash course
yo la tengo	little eyes
the white stripes	in the cold cold night
wheat	these are things
beck	guess i'm doing fine

Comment:

[an ending.]
The streets were a mess again. Snow drifts melting down to litter and last week's news; it was just that sort of year that sticks to the roof of your mouth until you have been bled dry. He was chasing after his little piece of summer; each hour left him fleeting. Strangers look with two eyes whenever his lover walks down the street. Funny though, because she isn't attractive, or rather, spectacular in any sense of the word from high held definitions. Kind of like a naked light bulb; harshly no less then radiant perfection. You could catch her reflection nearly anywhere. He didn't love her for any reason; he didn't love her, honest.
It was morning, nothing important or memorable. Sun and rain and shadows; Brooklyn's dawn, once again. There wasn't anything left to say; him running again to the B-52 bus because it was the only thing he knew how to do 6:50 AM on an early Tuesday. This was why he never got lost. He was a cautious kid who always stayed home when he felt angry, back row class cut up with a busy schedule and a first floor apartment; lousy view and thin walls. He was always cold and he never knew exactly what to talk about. Another casualty to cold, wet days.
The bus was late; it always was. Lethargic Jake or John or Joe, spending too much time buttoning shirt collars or sipping black coffee from white ceramic mugs. Had he known that the bus would be late again he would have slept in, the door just barely closed. Eighteen would forever be his quiet year. Mailing address the same as always but there was nothing new to tell him so they just didn't send word or message. It was 6:54 AM and he was doing the only thing he knew how to do. The only girl he had ever loved was waking up in two hours; he'd be far gone and out of sight.
It rolled or rumbled rather safely across the black ash fault; early morning warning signs flashing in the wind. Salvation and automotive exhaust creating an ocean he couldn't drown in. Pulling his coat tighter and facing forward he sat down behind the driver with out paying any fare.
"Hey kid, you're last day right?" The pair didn't bother to turn around to face each other; eyes on the road and with enough imagination they were sitting still and all of the familiar places were rolling by. The corner store, half finished library and overpass after overpass. He was supposed to miss all of this.
"Yeah, my last day," he sighed out, settling down into the big plastic three seater.
They didn't say anything for a while. He took soft quiet breaths that kissed air more then suck it in as the older one breathed in deep and purposefully. Everything that boy had ever done was in excess. Nothing, not even the essentials, seemed to anyone to be necessary for him and so he became wasteful; having angry sex and running away at four AM to places greater then unknown. He was still so young; no one ever let him remember that. Someday night just wouldn't end; it's harder to stay up until dawn that way.
When you got down to it all there wasn't really much keeping him there, other then what was keeping him there.
(c) carolyn m.

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