Joanna Newsom - "Easy"

    The breakfast table. The everlasting breakfast table. An old receipt from the pharmacy "Itm Personal 2 || 18.00 *** 50pts". Stain Island, with a crumb in the center, in a checkered sea. And that tired old basket, so sick of rotting fruit. By the end of August, by the 28th, you're so sick of the heat and the sun, but still you don't want it to leave.
     She came downstairs and put her bags by the door, always twenty minutes early for everything, happy to wait, happy to worry, will take any excuse. Off on a bus out of town in an hour, a whole summer, a whole forever has come to this. They talked about Mark Karma and picked at the corners of the breakfast table.
     "What will it cost for an 'A'?"
     "What do you mean?"
     "Well, you'll make tons of friends, but maybe not as many if you're working all the time."
     Her smile seemed embarrassed, like it was caught naked, feigning pride.
     "So I'll pay in social life?"
     "Everything costs something," she said and they both stared at the sunken peach in the poor old basket.
     She spoke again, "I'm not going to come to the station."
     "I'll be back."
     This hung in the air like dust in the sun, until she repeated it back to her with an Austrian accent. And when they'd pushed the clock as far as it would go they walked to the foyer, cool and shaded, to say goodbye.
     "Goodbye, Megan," she said, and hearing her say her name like that made her want to drop out of school, to take her upstairs and tear her clothes off, it felt like her last chance. But for Megan, a plan laid was a thing greater than herself, greater than her desires, it was somehow the greatest authority.
     She checked her earrings with her fingers, straightened her tie and smirked out the door. The damn sun was baking and she thought what will she eat for dinner? there's no groceries in the house. But thought better than to say it, best to leave on a dramatic note.

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