She pulled a disc and cued up "The Stroll" and did her thing on a dime. He watched from the kitchen, she was lava to the sea, and everything behind her was black; and maybe he was next, and maybe he would burn, but better to burn than die waiting.
We lived in a little pink house for a time. Laying pipe in the badlands at 17, decide to give college a shot. A rising reporter at 24, bouncing by night in the clubs. Back on the road by '89, and still rolling half the year.
But I can see the lake from here.
Every person tells one story better than anyone else - it's their story. And if you let them tell it, you might find a diamond, or a handful of gold.
Or nothing at all.
Let them tell it.