six thirty to nine

It's six thirty P.M. while I could be Trout Fishing in America.

I look into the front row, otherwise known as "the art section" at a girl I may or may not be attracted to. Next to her, there is a girl who looks like she is riding a lawnmower. I speculate as to whether or not the professor had ever been Trout Fishing in America. I think to myself, "girls named Samantha are for me" and then I change my mind. I try to pay attention but envision a mad dog floating around my head. All of the flavors are swirling above my head. The Bible as a historical document sounds better than the Bible that inspired people to bomb abortion clinics. I'm not sure whether drinking coffee makes me more or less nervous. I wish I was Trout Fishing in America. I wish I could sleep with a girl that looks like a hummingbird.