stumbled into music 17a at santa monica college with her guitar
case and her black converse high tops. her stockings were intentionally
ripped and her shoes had words like love peace and robert smith
scrawled over it. her handwriting looked like barbed wire. she was
almost as pale as this text, her eyes were painfully blue and her
firehouse red lipstick was smeared around the edges.
knew that she would be my girlfriend for the next three years?
not her. as class ended she ran to her blue honda accord to get
back home to zuma so fast that i had to wait two days to catch her
again and ask for her phone number.
would have happened if she hadnt given it to me? well, let's think
about this: michele was the first real poet i ever met, she majored
in journalism at college, and she was the first girl that i ever
did, uh, lots of things with. like take pictures.