You know, I don't have a door anymore.
But, well, I guess I could. If I wanted to carry one around with me.
You know, like that guy on— who brings one home for his girl?
It was on a commercial on TV, I don't have one anymore.
Man I can do this for hours.
You know I don't have a T.V. anymore, clean clothes anymore, a door anymore, a home anymore.
But this really ain't that funny is it?
I never did want to lose my door.
It just closed one day, and I happened to be on the wrong side of it.
I musta miss placed my key.
I tried to call the locksmith.
They couldn't help.
That door, they said, no longer belonged to me.
You wanna hear a joke?
What do you call a guy with no home, and who don't seem to be able to find one?
A joke! Get it?
Yeah I know it ain't funny.
You see doors are wood.
And so really shouldn't mean that much.
And on their own, they don't.
I could probably find a door-somewhere-if I tried.
Even set it up in the street somewhere and walk through it, over and over.
People would probably think I'm crazy.
Or I could hide behind the door and then open it as someone walked past and scream "Gothca!"— That might even be funny.
I doubt it.
But see a door, that don't really mean shit. It's the stuff on the other side of it that matters.