Sunday, March 20, 2011
daddy's little girl isn't hard to find
"Do you think you're oppressive?" he sat there asking. Alone, no one really in the room. There's a bunch of people outside in the living room waiting, but he's just sitting in the office on her fathers big old leather chair. "Life's great." He mumbles, then spins in the chair. "Freedom" he whispers, dragging out his legs and bringing the chair to a halt. "What is freedom?" he asks himself looking over the portrait of the sailor. The picture on the package of papers shows a working man. "Working men" he say's to himself. "If you smoke a pack a day in this day and age in this country, you're paying 300$ a month minimum...Freedom?" Vocalizing his thoughts makes him laugh. "300 bucks fuck now that's freedom!" he yells, smiling holding it in his hand. "So am I oppressed?" he asks himself again, thinking out loud. He notices her science book laying on her fathers desk, grade 12 curriculum. Picking up the book in one hand and holding out the rolled joint in the other, weighing them, reasoning with one and embracing the other, he justifies it.