I come down to the shopping centre to write poems, there’s poems in the prize machine. I can hear the shopkeepers counting their money, girls in the hair salon and I’ve got the talent to look good. I’m hoodwinked. There’s buzz cuts in the salon, bastards at the bank. I see frankie, just another citizen of the lucky country taking a touchdown with his bags of shopping. I spill my guts to him, I’ve got plans to go to America and eat record hot dogs, and be a hot shot or a greedy guts. Elvis was kind of before my time, but seeing the Elvis movie yesterday, geez it really makes you feel like you want to go to graceland.
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