Track Insight / Lyrics
Got my meter wound down, vinyl split like a '94 windshield.
You yank the seat back—I hold. Stubborn. The way I was set.
That coffee ring on the Formica. A Tuesday I still smell.
Sit. You ain't walking out till the cup goes flat.
The waitress drops her plate on the seam where my crack runs wide,
sugar packets tumble in—little white coins, lodged, flush.
Outside, salt crusts the boulevard, the 6:15 bus coughs its tail.
I carry your elbows. Your elbows. And I won't budge an inch.
Crack me, press me, I am the booth on 9th and Main.
I hold the whole weight of a Tuesday you will not name.
My vinyl peels like old tire rubber on a November road.
You sit, I stay. That's the fare. That's the ride.
A couple argued here. She left her lipstick in my crease.
He came back Thursday. I still taste the cherry. Still.
The heater ticks behind the wall like a meter clicking slow.
I hold both your elbows, and I do not let go.
Crack me press me I am
the booth on th and Main
I hold the whole weight of a Tuesday you will not name.
My vinyl peels like old tire rubber on a November road.
You sit, I stay. That's the fare. That's the ride.
Lights dim. Napkin dispenser clinks. Last plate stacks.
I keep your shape in the
vinyl A warm indent The split
Old leather outlasts the new. That's what the bumper says.
Still here. Still here. Pull the seat back. I hold.
