frank settled down in the valley,
and he hung his wild years on a
nail that he drove through his
wife's forehead.
he sold used office furniture out
there on san fernando road and
assumed a $30,000 loan at
15 14 % and put a down payment
on a little two bedroom place.
his wife was a spent piece of used jet trash
made good bloody-marys, kept her mouth
shut most of the time, had a little chihuahua
named carlos that had some kind of skin
disease and was totally blind.
they had a thoroughly modern kitchen;
self-cleaning oven (the whole bit)
frank drove a little sedan.
they were so happy.
one night frank was on his way home
from work, stopped at the liquor store,
picked up a couple of mickey's big mouths.
drank 'em in the car on his way to the
shell station; he got a gallon of gas in a can.
drove home, doused everything in
the house, torched it.
parked across the street laughing,
watching it burn, all halloween
orange and chimney red.
frank put on a top forty station,
got on the hollywood freeway
headed north.
