I woke up too early. It was still dark out. I tried to read some Hunter S. Thompson, but it made me thirsty, not a drop in the place. I wish I were in Puerto Rico.
A few nights ago my girlfriend and I got into it. She bit me and scratched my face. We were drunk on wine from Argentina. The coffee I’m drinking doesn’t taste right. I wish I were in Puerto Rico.
In the wee hours of the morning I decided to shave my head. It took four razors, but I finally got the job done. I looked in the mirror, and a stranger peered back at me; a head like Gandhi and a face like Marciano. I wish I were in Puerto Rico.
Yesterday my girlfriend and I went on a shoplifting spree. I stole coffee, a couple of books, a hat, denture glue, and a **** ring. She’s a much better thief than me. She took razors, two tapestries, laundry soap and trash bags, makeup, shampoo and coffee that doesn’t taste funny. As the sun gently kisses the horizon and begins to bathe Iowa City in golden light, I wish I were in Puerto Rico.
Tomorrow morning I have to be in court. A month ago I stole some wine and got caught. My day of reckoning has almost arrived. I should just get a fine that I will never pay, but with these things, one never knows. The judge could be hung over or constipated or worse yet, he could have read my poetry. I really wish I were in Puerto Rico.