The Fixer.

There is this kid, somewhere in the midwest, who is wrapped up in flannel and listening to the latest Pearl Jam track with the biggest headphones this side of a Memphis recording studio. In this kid's head are the dreams yet to unfold from the crumpled ink on the floor. His walls are plastered with Obama stickers and posters for bands that may and may not be any longer. The imitation Bab-com sits next to titanium fighters beside his bed lamp. He lays his head down and watches the click and fade of the beautiful box on top of his portable closet. All is right today, all is correct here and now. Just a few more days until I can put my sticks in my hand and keep going for another week.