Maybe it was Pink Floyd singing
Comfortably Numb which
drew him into my room,
but there he sat,
in a brow bent baseball cap,
grinding his teeth, or what
was left of them; I liked him immediately,
traces of a child in that confused smile,
so much love it made me cry,
makes me cry even now.
He took room 41, a dirty mattress,
scratched KISS cds and a gun.
He was tall, black and hauntingly enigmatic...
under that grinning and grinding
was someone I knew.
end/michael bogar
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