Everyday Yeah one-thousand two-hundred and eighteen

Today on the bus a man said, “I got out of jail and broke my parole three times and then got sixty days.” His friend said, “Sixty days ain’t anything.” Yeah tried to tell the guys he had a couple of overdue library books. Another man in the bus crowd was jealous of my ear coverings. He said, “Three of friends didn’t have heads and so they thought it was cool to never wear winter hats, but I always liked to wear them even though my friends thought it was dumb. They fell off their lawnmowers and from the shoulders up they didn’t have anything. They were alright for a few years, but then that west coast virus began eating at the other end of their bodies. Birds were burrowing in through their feet.” When we got off the bus I followed Yeah over to a marsh. Yeah said, “I grew up near the most famous marsh in the world. It was much bigger than this marsh.” Yeah said, “The marsh where I grew up was where they first discovered the sound of birds.” I watched a woman jump over the marsh we were looking at. Yeah followed her. I jumped too. When we got home we saw the wreckage. Our driveway was a club that got tore up over the weekend. A thousand people tried climbing my basketball hoop. It was okay. I was able to wear a shirt made out of twill which everyone at the party enjoyed. As I tried to stand the basketball hoop back up I finally understood the darker features of a crumb.