In the Lenin Hat

He got his Lenin hat in Moscow, his jeans at hospice downtown and his duck shirt off a clothes-line where the woman hung out a medium men’s with long sleeves to cover the tattoos, so he could get into the Christian Free Feed at the Methodist Church on Francis Bacon Street.
If he couldn’t bum 5 bucks by 6 this afternoon he would have to go to the holy-rollers church, and find a warm coat with fur inside, and he knew the closet where they hung while they danced, screamed and spoke in foreign languages, claiming to be the Holy Ghost, all the cold damn night.

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In the Lenin Hat, 4.5 out of 10 based on 6 ratings

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