Porcelain Marie Antoinette

I did get a violin, and I have been plucking its little tendons for a couple of days, while Michael brushes the cymbal's teeth and gives the sax a massage. I like the tweeker neighbors, they don't give a fuck about noise and they sure do make it. "BLOW IT OUT YOUR ASS!" the one lady screamed while she was obsessively sweeping the concrete. She said that because another lady asked her if she wanted any leftover dinner. These misfits beat their little kitty with a broom, and that is just a crisis. "I TOLD YOU AND YOU DIDN'T LISTEN TO ME!" the lady screamed at her cat. I am trying to steal their cat. There's a lot of women living in that little shack, and they all seem to be kind of indentured servant/addicts to this guy Earl, who is in a wheelchair and has his legs tied together with a rope. "GO ASK YES-MAN EARL!" screamed the lady last night. We sit at the windows and ring our little Indian bells when they get violent, peeking over the sill to watch them huff and puff.

Michael is making me breakfast because last night I made the dinner. I am sitting next to my porcelain Marie Antoinette.