The cicada sings/In the rotten willow.

hell isn't other people.

hell isn't even being stuck in a denny's at mid-day, surrounded by the elderly, in the non-smoking section, as rachael and i once thought in our youthful innocence.

NO! hell is a car dealership with free sticky-sweet coffee that makes you sick to your stomach and able to stay awake in order to be worn down until the place closes. and hell is cold- the building has shitty heating anyway, and the salesman is continually bringing you out to the windy lot to look at cars you don't even want. add to that a bone-crushing toothache and a circle of chairs on wheels that you can nevertheless never leave. good god.

on second thought, maybe that's purgatory? whichever- it sucked.

maybe hell is standing in central square outside of a show and hearing some kid say, "when people ask me why i stopped being a vegetarian, i tell them it's because they don't serve tofu in valhalla." even disregarding the foolishness of the statement, how the hell would you know? have you ever been to valhalla? NO, I DON'T THINK SO MISTER!!!! though you're probably right. and i resent you for it. really.

anyhow. i'm sure something that i've experienced in the past two weeks has actually been the unabashed face of hell. though living in lowell and nashua, it's understandably difficult to pinpoint.

the salesman seemed nice, though. he got into a very bad car accident in which his wife was killed. it's terrible and made me want to cry, i wonder why he sells cars now?