What kind of man am I?
That blonde architect looked me in the eyes on her scratchy couch, about a year ago, and told me I was a good man. No other person said it before nor since and it's the thing I most need to hear.
...and knocks on the box from the kid with two different socks from both sides of the tracks who fell through the cracks but developed a taste for sushi and oysters and herbs and dreams and Manhattans with Beam and picked up a full head of steam.
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