by Charles Robertson
Warning! Language and mature themes
Harrison is having a bad day.
The passengers in his cab are driving him crazy
The hollywood dream that keeps him going is stuck in neutral
And the drugs and booze-They don't numb the pain so well
When I was young, little,
I remembered my dad as a big, tough guy.
A drinker; scared me.
At night, dad would arrive home late,
drunk and angry;
with winged demons at his beck and call.
And in the morning,
when the sun chased away the demons,
weeping,
he would come back with flowers and candies to patch up the pieces,
the black eye, the split lip,
the fractured wrist,
the blood,
but mom was such a delicate China doll,
that after a while,
after a time,
the pieces couldn’t be put back together again with flowers,
with lies
Like a fast car
One Actor
can have many moving parts