Five Is Seven

Five is seven depending on the volume. If the volume is lower than five is six. The cop mind in a police state: He’s out driving. He’s going somewhere. He went off his usual routes. He pulled into a place that serves alcohol. He said, fucked up. I’m investigating. What really happened: I really don’t feel like driving at all. Well, the car hasn’t been driven in three days. Man! I don’t want to drive on Market. It’s a pile of shit and it keeps getting worse. I’ll go down 44th and go around and then pull around at the golf course. Man, this exit or entrance is fucked up look at all the potholes. Oh, there’s a damn pig. “Why does everyone hate me?”