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Scrotemanski After School

from TO THE CLEANERS by *spandrel

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about

piano sample courtesy of the Trash Pile

lyrics

I go over to my friend Scrotemanski’s house after school because he’s late-80’s rich and his parents are never home. We go down to the basement and videogame until our fingers blister and pop into raw patches of albino skin; we operate on GI Joes. Scrotemanski’s sister is a skater. She’s got the Lithium CD single so we go into her room and read the lyrics to Nevermind. We both agree that “Territorial Pissings” is our favorite song in the world, especially the part where he sings “Smile on your brother.”

Scrotemanski's family took me with them on a Florida vacation. We walked for twenty sidewalks and then ran up the sand dunes, tumbling down the other side and then stumbling in the sand as our leg muscles piston-shot like hydraulic pumps. My head underwater, I close my eyes and propel my body with frog-kicks far, far out.

When I surface, school bus ferry boats cut fast swaths into the waves; I’m well beyond the swimming area, the life guard chairs vacant – like I could even see without my glasses, but I put my head under again and open my eyes – coral reefs, fish (?) blurs, or something worse. Close my eyes and kick back toward shore, to have rippling sand and tufts of green things beneath my feet.

I come out of the water like a Lost Boy who lost his Indian feathers. The Scrotemanski's are gone so I beg a local family to adopt me. New dad's got a van, blue-collar van with tools, and rust, and no seat belts. New dad is wearing a jumpsuit and looks half Indian – hair greased and slicked back. He’s divorced, so I think I’ll take the job. Us Lost Boys don't need a mom. We chew on unmelted hot glue gun sticks and sit in silence like men (my mouth is waxed shut anyway).

credits

from TO THE CLEANERS, released October 7, 2022

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