The tender breathing belly of an orange under-cloudnthe scrutiny of a streetlamp over menDrew a breath of smoke from the heavy autumn airnjust outside the courthouse finally freenPawned a driftwood clarinet and a silver chain I hadnbought a greyhound ticket heading westnUnderneath the blanket of a lost and found box jacketnMy head against the window trying to restnnGonna scar my facenin a different placenor maybe wear my hat down lownPull a stick-up jobnon some five and dimenKeep slithering town to townnnI shuffled along the shoulder of an unmarked roadnstopped to catch my breath outside Des Plainesnslipped into a Laundromat to grab some baggy clothesnthen slept out on the ashtray by the lakenThe very next evening in some half-deserted barnsome black-eyed Molly bought me watered drinksna couple hours later, swapped stories in her kitchennwhile waiting for leftovers to reheatnnGonna change my waysnTry and be some placenGonna fight the urge to gonFind an honest jobnat some nine to fivenand maybe stick aroundnnEarly the next morning,nshe called a friend of her late husband'sna foreman at a plastics factorynGot me some shit job for under the table cashnjust until I got back on my feetnI could picture Molly through two black eyes cryingneven though I hadn't wronged her yetnEvery time I'd ever managed landing on my feetnI'd be looking for a cozy place to sitnnCut my fingers trimming flash, burned both of my handsnthe foreman came to ride me about the ratenThe hopper wound up jammed.nI over-filled the press.nThe foreman sent me home for the daynI couldn't face Molly, so I walked around for hoursnbefore I started fixing to leavena day or two later, I read in some papernabout a fire at that factorynnGonna scar my facenin a different placenor maybe wear my hat down lownPull a stick-up jobnon some five and dimenKeep slithering town to town