Locksmiths, Tool & Dye workers, janitors, gray lunch boxes, football as a family affair, the way the houses crammed tight on Scott Street still all seem to run uphill, the pounding of fists on tables, red-faced shouting even when agreeing, the setting of jaws and chins in fiery defiance, and the intensity of survivors' scowls.
Real deep down, the sort of appreciation and gratitude and understanding in where you you've been, where you come from, what you're made of what makes you and who you really are
sometimes there are moments of reflecting in the middle of it all in spite of you, when I know without a shadow of a doubt and such clarity
There's something really good and strong, and it runs way down deep inside, and its something nobody can ever touch. Nobody can even come close. Unless its something you have, its something you'll never understand, no matter how you try.
People can take just about everything about you that there is, but if you don't have this to start, its something you will never know.
Keep your California inclination to hollow characterizations,
"no I cannot forget from where it is that I come from I cannot forget the people who love me, yeah I can be myself in this small down and people let me be just what I wanna be" -- John Couger Mellencamp -- who is very "small town like me"
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