Spreading words and music and traveling the world like a gypsy.

Maybe you could come with me? I would very much like you to be with me, I could be in the top bunk, you below me in your gauzy and shear fabrics and combat boots as I read you stories I've written with you in mind. You look up at me with so much love in your eyes. Your goulash is simmering on the pot as you sing to me in exchange for the story I wrote for you.

Ever wake up early in the morning ready to face the day, get things done, make a difference in your life, see the people in your neighborhood, take care of chores, but as you get up and move around, you go, "Yeah, I don't think so..." and you wanna crawl back into bed? What do you do? If I had one of those gypsy caravan wagon things, I could be right at home writing my books and visiting new places.

"And everything was made for you and me. All of it was made for you and me. Cause it just belongs to you and me. So let's take a ride and see what's mine!" Iggy sang from the car's cassette player as Jolene watched Jerry's hands on the wheel. 

The LA rain was beating on the roof of the car hard as they sat at the light and she could see he was distressed. She wanted to help. He was in pain and she would take all the pain on, if only he'd let her. 

But he wouldn't.

After the crash, we sat for the longest time. There would be no more pain. The car was all broken and bruised. 

I was so scared. You seemed so sad. For a little while, I wondered if you would walk out on me. You seemed so unsure. You picked up the broken rear view mirror from a pile of shattered glass on the hood. In the fractured reflection was your pale blue eyes. Kneeling on the pavement I found the wedding ring I got for you in a puddle of gasoline. Looking up at you, I could see that it seemed as though love came rushing in and healed your heart.

You were mine again.

"I love this song! I've been playing it all morning, working on a dance move and thinking of you," she said moving the vacuum cleaner into the closet after letting me in her apartment.

She was only wearing a pink bra and white anklet socks while she was cleaning the living room getting ready for me to come over.

"Am I too early? You doing this for me, or wear you doing your Melanie Griffith "Working Girl" vacuuming imitation?" I asked while she dressed.

Shouting from behind her bedroom door, "I play this song cause it helps motivate me to clean! When we get back, I'll show you my moves"

"When I take you to the motel, press you against the wall, tear off your skirt, rip off your panties, lift you up, pin your wrists down, while pushing into you... I will be doing it to you to this song, baby! Are you ready for it?" I asked her setting the needle on the track.

She put on her Mac Viva Glam Cyndi lipstick and winked at me from the mirror on the vanity.

"I remember when I got that album when it first came out. I was listening to it on an old portable GE Wildcat record player and the speakers crackled like they never had before. I played that song endlessly hoping someday I'd be fucking a girl like you"

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