Finally, starved and beaten.

I had to go into the streets,
to be interviewed
for low-paying
and monotonous jobs,
by strange men
behind desks.

Men without eyes.
Without faces.

Who would take my hours.

Break them.

Piss on them.

But now I work for the editors,
the critics,
the readers.

I still hang around
and drink with

Mozart,

Bach,

Brahms,

& Clementi.

Some buddies of mine,
A few good ones.