The last time we broke the rules was in 1993.
It was a Tuesday in September and
In Utero had just hit the shelves. So,
instead of pulling into the high school
parking lot, I double-clutched and shifted
into fourth gear, pushing the pedal
into the floor as soon as the red hood
of my Chevy Baretta broke the plane
of the School Zone and we headed south
toward the record store.
I remember driving around the rest
of the morning just listening to that
album on repeat as if there were no
school or expectations or consequences
or future. We were lost and it was perfect
to be fugitives on the run from the laws
of prognostication. Maybe this is happiness,
driving around this Texas town looking
for another place to fuck.
The trunk is filled with Plan B.
And, baby, if that don’t work,
in a few months we can drive to Mexico
on half-a-tank of gas because God
hasn’t released an album in a couple thousand years.
And anyway, we’ve already experienced Nirvana.
***
Matt Schultz wanted to be a musician. So it goes.
***
image: Kelsey Zimmerman is a writer and artist from Michigan currently living in Iowa. Her work is published or forthcoming in Nurture: A Literary Journal, Ghost City Review, Unlost Journal, and The Indianapolis Review.
Rejection Letters 