letter to j/k/r

you don't know what you're missing...the acres of savages here...running around on the streets, all hours, like madcap flashes...the latinos commenting on the sweet ass of the twenty-one year old innocent in front of me...the hydrants gushing water, the old ones hobbling on rusty knees, the hot oppressive nature of the air...filled with untold carcinogens...if you are going to live, even for a little while, and i mean be alive, this is the place...skunked last night i requested a song about ole chris reeve...it was played and then someone in the sparse crowd said "that's inappropriate"...how insane...inappropriate?...am i suddenly hanging out with i'll humoured den mothers?...i responded "life is inappropriate"...then nothing...the silence of an air conditioned evening...i woke up this morning hurting...my soul seems to be rotting away...the disease of the ages has broken through, pulling with all its might...i think of the beauty i have left behind...the beauty of the life that is fading...the quiet sadness of existence...can i at least mention that, or is that also "inappropriate"...