There's a Stripmall Southeast of Saint Paul Thinks It's Palais Versailles...

Scott Miller, taken much too soon (from What If It Works).

Something More Than In-Between

Probably Strange But It's Basically True

If I were a songwriter and all I had to show for a lifetime of work was this:



I'd be happy.

(And am I the only one who wants Marshall Crenshaw to cover this? Or Chris Stamey? Or Don Dixon?)

It's Somewhat Insane That It's Sort of This Way

I Don't Know How This Plays

So here's something.

Hearing. Seeing. Knowing.

It alternates between seeming like the most natural thing in the world and seeming insane.

At this point, I have nothing.

This, friends tell me, means I have nothing to lose.

They're wrong.

There's always something to lose.

Hope. Dreams. Ambitions.

But isn't it better to know than to live with the fantasy?

Maybe. Maybe not.

The fantasy has been around for a while. It knows how I like my food cooked and knows where I keep the booze.

Maybe, you say. Maybe not.



And when the cold rains move through like an angry bull, the fantasy takes its leave.

Leaving behind a stream, a trail, a sign that it's been there.

Is there a chance or not?

I don't know.

I may never know.

But I want to know.

So

I pick up

the phone.