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Blue Diamonds, The Long Winters
This song reminds me of being carless in L.A. Which is kind of an art. You pull together your most bemused face and darkest eyes, scamming rides and hoping to avoid, you know, getting dead.
If you fail, you must walk the length of Sunset. Sharing cigarette butts with your grumpy friend. Inventing reverse-tourist games to try and forget the stupid, hot sun. When the light melts into a milky dusk, you can rest at the bottom of the hill. Your pal’s got a little weed in her pocket, mixed up with denim lint. Stumbling uphill with jeans in your lungs, you think you see Wonderland Murder ghosts. You wonder if they’ve got a car. Imagine what it’s like to be a crook full time.
(Plays: 90)
