Chapin City Blues

Writing is writing whether done for duty, profit, or fun.

Not much of a Twenty One Pilots fan, but something about this song stuck. (Most of the album, actually, but let’s not talk about that.) It’s the lyric, the repetitive chorus, “Wish we could turn back time to the good old days/When our momma sang us to sleep, but now we’re stressed out.” The first …

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  A tape recorder. Cellophane wrapped. Copper flavored candy. Records played live. Carbon paper. Keyless typewriters. The hookah. The tang of citrus. Endless scrolls of handwritten sprawl. Unused journals. 90s fashion statements. Lip sync videos. Strange fruit. Strange fruit. Strange adolescent fruit hanging from Childhood branches. A cellphone rings. A parent cries out.