The evening could have quickly turned empty. The seconds could have become heavier. The mind could have chained itself to routine. But for him. And his eerie ability to linger on in a space he is not a part of anymore. For a long time now.
That's Elvis under the lamp on my dining table. For tickets email phishpot@gmail.com
2 comments:
I like Elvis...but the fried peanut butter sandwiches were his death.
For tickets?
So, where's the gig?
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