The Breakers is one among a string of grandiose abodes, against which the restless Atlantic bangs her white capped head. You would too.

They’re embarrassingly excessive erections; temples of oppression can hardly be considered homes worthy of priceless admission with their velvet ropes and closed off rooms, everything hermetically sealed in prophylactics, much like their ghostly inhabitants. How do you breathe when you’re coated in synthetics and bound by predestined, prenatal agreements that’ll determined every step you take before your prefrontal cortex is even fully developed?

No wonder sterling silver serving bowls full of coke adorned her sweet sixteen. The thought of peaking in a turquoise taffeta ball gown in the great room of your parent’s seaside mansion, stripped of the rights to making a single decision ever again, can hardly be called a fairy tale. The hired help, along with those lords and snowflaked ladies, were equally yoked as domesticated animals. Their distinguishing differences were a bed and a brow; one noble, the other razed and seemingly primitive. Subjective opinions intended to favor the self-declared favorites of the gods.

Accomplices wear all kinds of costumes, including the lie that there’s such a thing as an innocent party.

I imagined him in there; entertaining American royalty while simultaneously dreading the stroke of midnight.

The wind off the water was warm as we walked under the shade of heaving beach roses; their pink, fallen petals bleeding between the cement and the bottom of our souls. With a jested whimper, he reminded me I’d gotten fat despite the fact that he’d recently begged me to notice the skeleton in the middle of a forked road. Which way are we supposed to go? A few square feet less than 295,000 but more than 600. That’s a lot of leeway.

The numbers game will mess with your head at the end of the night. Especially if the owner’s had a few and you’re the only sober member of the band left to negotiate a previously determined, verbal contract made somewhere between the Canadian border and Burlington. You remember damn well the agreed on price but these self righteousness bastards hold the power to change the rules whenever it suits them.

So you put on the satin tuxedo for the spoiled princess and destroy her with chords.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s