Transcript

A month or so from fifty seven Wednesday morning, a couple hours before eleven, and I have a little bacon. And I don't mean Kevin. Been waiting on a second win, more like a ninth or a tenth. Where do I begin? Just a saint who is a washing sin, still a believer in the things of my youth, Still a liar seeking a sliver of truth, still at the diner in the corner booth. Maybe the miracle I've been waiting on is merely a pro disguised as a con. The tireless time that is, once upon we're all waiting on our Hollywood ending. Maybe it's time to give up pretending. Maybe standing more standing, and far less bending.