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scatterbrain___'s Journal

That is not the real Ben Franklin. I am 99% sure.

That's what she said.
18 July 1984

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I'm walking out in a force ten gale. Birds thrown around, bullets for hail. The roof is pulling off by its fingernails. Your voice is rappin' on my windowsill. Yesterday's headlines blown by the wind. Yesterday's people end up scatterbrain. Any fool can easy pick a hole. (I only wish that I could fall in.) A moving target in a firing range. Somewhere I'm not. Scatterbrain. Somewhere I'm not. Scatterbrain. Lightning fuse, powercut. Scatterbrain.

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