Saturn gleams up there. Like root beer and fudge and slippery streets and chocolate kisses melting in the palm of your hand.
And then the girl with the brown dusted eyes tells me all her dreams. And every dream involves somebody beautiful, and somewhere she belongs perfectly. I wish she knew that sheÕs better than belonging. SheÕs above belonging. Because thereÕs no place that deserves her. Instead I can see her as a nomad. A Ruby Tuesday in a furry 70Õs coat. I love everything this girl represents. She talks to me in a haze of smoke inside her head. She tells me IÕm a really cool dresser and I smile under my bangs. She carves tiny lizards into the palms of my hands, painlessly. She outlines her eyes with a pocket mirror and an eye pencil that is the color of peacock cities. She tells me about her hippie country singer mother, and how beautiful she once was. And I believe it, looking at the bones in this girlÕs face. The sparkle in her eyes. The sheen on the brown faded green striped hair. She wears beads around her neck that look exactly like mine. She talks about how jazz makes her feel classy, but how ska makes her come alive. And then I can picture her skanking under a stage of gleaming saxophones and dreadlocks and brightly colored clothing. She talks about circus movies and ancient Egypt and too many parties and too many joints and strange pills. And then I see flashing lights through brown dusted peacock lined Egypt beauty country singer Ruby Tuesday dream skank eyes in a faded pink cartoon t-shirt and a thrift store skirt.