you’d think it was a mansion… room with a bed…john down the hall…one man’s treasure…right…

it’d been so long since a Hancock had been put on anything…nothin’ ta’ show…not from this American life…

a mini-fridge and mic sat in a corner…small bookshelf in the other…dreams popped into a floating mind…Dostoyevsky…Miller…Mamet…Kerouac…Rilke(that mad German bastard)…Bukowski…books and books and books would line the walls…his heaven unfolded…

and jazz everynight while a beautiful buxom blonde laughed at jokes…smoked menthols…kisses and wine…kisses and wine…a coffee pot and a typewriter…

i’ll take the place…