liz wrote this.

Amy Vancing took me driving in her new car to Nebraska to watch Eddie spend his meaningless days scooping ice cream and writing poetry for all the wrong reasons. It took us two days to get there, depressing pit stops at run down gas stations to refuel our cars and our bodies - inspiring pit stops at coffee shops to refuel our souls. Six hours of sleep, in a locked car, on Saturday night, alongside the highway, and we start our journey again Sunday morning, and arrive in Nebraska that evening. Eddie looks different. Better. Less washed up, less approachable, but all the same deep and once you start looking at him you can't stop. Me and Amy never did go up and say anything to him, we just watched him from distances. Late, very late, on Tuesday night he was crying in his car for an hour. Then he went into his empty house and played the piano so loud that he woke the neighbors up. Small houses, close together. (Nebraska you know). Some of them got up, turned on their lights to see what had awoken them, and realizing it was Eddie went back to bed. His obese mother left the house only to go restock her supply of sno-balls and cans of frosting, both of which she ate daily. On Thursday she left somewhat early and Eddie left about an hour after her to arrive at work an hour late. He knew whenever his mother left the house the town made it an event to watch her struggle to get in the car. Anytime now she would have to take the bus. Eddie's boss asked him why he was late. He said he slept in. Some pretty girls were watching Eddie on Friday. I tried to kill them. With my telekinesis. It didn't work. Damned pretty girls. Eddie didn't notice them though, too busy painting. Everything about this place was depressing, but Eddie made it worth coming. And I feel lucky to have such a good friend to drive me all the way out here to watch this man attempt living, while all we really want is for someone to do the same for us. We went home the following Sunday, and school resumed Monday. We both decided as soon as we turn eighteen we would move out to Nebraska, and open up a record store. Or maybe an ice cream shop.


	amaze me machine. \| home my poetry liz wrote this. One hundred years ago I could sing like a maniac and we were happy doing whatever September, 1977 Dear Diary, Amy Vancing took me driving in her new car to Nebraska to watch Eddie spend his meaningless days scooping ice cream and writing poetry for all the wrong reasons. It took us two days to get there, depressing pit stops at run down gas stations to refuel our cars and our bodies - inspiring pit stops at coffee shops to refuel our souls. Six hours of sleep, in a locked car, on Saturday night, alongside the highway, and we start our journey again Sunday morning, and arrive in Nebraska that evening. Eddie looks different. Better. Less washed up, less approachable, but all the same deep and once you start looking at him you can't stop. Me and Amy never did go up and say anything to him, we just watched him from distances. Late, very late, on Tuesday night he was crying in his car for an hour. Then he went into his empty house and played the piano so loud that he woke the neighbors up. Small houses, close together. (Nebraska you know). Some of them got up, turned on their lights to see what had awoken them, and realizing it was Eddie went back to bed. His obese mother left the house only to go restock her supply of sno-balls and cans of frosting, both of which she ate daily. On Thursday she left somewhat early and Eddie left about an hour after her to arrive at work an hour late. He knew whenever his mother left the house the town made it an event to watch her struggle to get in the car. Anytime now she would have to take the bus. Eddie's boss asked him why he was late. He said he slept in. Some pretty girls were watching Eddie on Friday. I tried to kill them. With my telekinesis. It didn't work. Damned pretty girls. Eddie didn't notice them though, too busy painting. Everything about this place was depressing, but Eddie made it worth coming. And I feel lucky to have such a good friend to drive me all the way out here to watch this man attempt living, while all we really want is for someone to do the same for us. We went home the following Sunday, and school resumed Monday. We both decided as soon as we turn eighteen we would move out to Nebraska, and open up a record store. Or maybe an ice cream shop.