used to hang

she puts on born in the usa and more people know it than you'd think. know all the lyrics. know the stalls and the big drum hits. he makes her wait before thunder road. they need to hear badlands and rosalita first. those suburbans.

maybe it's not true that they know less than him, but it seems that way. overhearing the stupidest conversations about rockband destroying musicianship, or the horror of unisex toilets. it's enough to make you understand the right wing.

he keeps asking for darlington county even though they're past the third track. you know that this record was written by a guy in his thirties. you can lie on you floor in your bedroom at 14 and think you know the lyrics, but at 38, when all the words come back crisp and in time to impress the old blondes lining the bar no surrender controls the pace of your heart like fear or her.

we keep drinking, one after another. right out of the icebox, the bottles are wet and slide just enough to make it fun to sling them around. her giant brown eyes seek out the rough ones around the bar and he likes her poise.

you only get this for a quick moment. you only live at the bar for a short while. but you can always tell someone who has. they've got it.