Dear best friend, thank you for the Windex.

I got an album I love. I'm continually listening to it (see The Cinnamon Phase on right). It came in a nice package, hand drawn. The songs make me sad.

Here is one that reminds me of my friend that brought me Windex without speaking. Dear sir, thank you. Now, some song lyrics.


"MARCH: Australia, Olympia, Poughkeepsie"

My stomach becomes hollower the more I eat alone. I can hardly stomach getting you on the phone. I feel like an idiot everytime I see you, and I feel like you're an idiot too.

I say, "you look great"

"I've lost a lot of weight," you say, "my old clothes don't even fit. Remember my denim jacket?"

Of course I do. You wore it all three years, through camping trips and irrational fears. Australia, Olympia, Poughkeepsie.

Oh, Poughkeepsie.

I'm sick and I'm sad and I shouldn't be singing. I'm gonna lose my voice, but it doesn't really matter because I've got no one to talk to.