| Where did you go, Angela?
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| Where did you go, Angela?
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| I have my neurosis, you had your neurosis
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| Together we lay between walls in symbiosis
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| My place is a place I hang my head
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| Your place was a place you shared with your cat
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| Where did you go, Angela?
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| Where did you go, Angela?
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| When I’d water my succulents I couldn’t help but notice you shamelessly taking
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| selfies
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| I miss seeing your flip-flops laying on the dusty mat in our shared area where
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| I’d step out at night for cigarettes
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| You livd alone in your fishball existenc
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| I traveled the globe, the globetrotting itinerant
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| And when I’d come home there’d be many packages for you
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| And when they were heavy I’d carry your bottle of water, cat litter and your
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| cat food too
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| You ordered your life like a magic wand from Chewy.com, eBay, and Walmart
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| Bed Bath & Beyond, Zappos and Instacart, Etsy and Amazon.com
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| One day I came home from Buffalo and to my surprise:
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| Only one package for Angela in the lobby of my building
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| I thought «this is strange, out of character for her», the stairs leading up to
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| my door are high and steep
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| I dragged my luggage up my staircase, by the time I got inside I forgot all
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| about the one single package that was down there for Angela
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| I opened my window to air out my place and I watered my succulents,
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| and I glanced in your window, your place was empty, you were gone,
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| I’m sad and perplexed by your sudden exit
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| Where did you go, Jennifer?
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| Where did you go, Jennifer?
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| You did my dry cleaning for 32 years
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| And saying goodbye to you had me in tears
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| Your rent got too high
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| The city half-died
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| I asked you what’s left
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| You said you’re retiring
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| I said «do you mean there’s no government money for you?» |
| and you said no
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| I said, «it must be the same for other small businesses because I also noticed
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| the Pancho’s on Polk Street is closed»
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| I went to my local grocery store guy and said «man, Jenny’s down the street and
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| Pancho’s are closed»
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| He said «Mark, I know, I saw that, the San Francisco we once knew will never be
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| the same San Francisco.»
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| Where did you go, my beautiful city?
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| Where did you go, my magical city?
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| You’re boarded up with plywood now, covered in graffiti
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| You were such a charmer, you once were so pretty
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| I’ve gotten tired of waiting in line and being told on which X I can stand
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| I’m tired of being shamed when I reach in my wallet and accidentally hand the
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| cashier cash
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| And being yelled at by clerks when I walk in their store without using hand
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| sanitizer first and not wearing a mask
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| I tell them I’m doing the best to follow their guidelines and do what they ask
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| But before leaving I tell them, «Next time, please relax
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| My reflexes are still programmed to grocery shopping protocol of the very
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| recent past
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| You’re a clerk, not a cop, so quit being so bossy, it’s not very nice
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| I understand there’s a lot of fear going around but please don’t forget to be
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| polite»
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| Where did you go, my boxing gym?
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| Where did you go, the music venue Slim’s?
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| Where did you go, my Augusta show?
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| Where did you go, my San Francisco? |