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 Ferdando Rd.
and assumed a $30,000 loan at 15 and a quarter percent
and put a down payment on a little two-bedroom place
His wife a 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 sort 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 mickeys,
drank them in the car on the way to the Shell station.
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 40s station, got on the Hollywood freeway and headed north.
Never could stand that dog.
-- Tom Waits, "Frank's Wild Years"
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