rockstar.

neither a golden oldie or a current pop hit, rockstar covers the spectrum.

for the first few weeks that i knew of rockstar, he was silent. he sat in the recliner and watched as the rest of us waxed and waned. always accompanying buddha, this tall, lanky figure of a man had a presence about him that could make even the most concrete girl smile.

my body, fascinated by some acronyms we had procured, lurched from the floor and came to rest next to rockstar's feet. i poured myself into the chair sitting next to his, and my right hand flopped over the side to meet his.

he sat in his chair, and i sat in mine. we held hands and closed our eyes. thousands of images bombed my third eye, but the tv screen of snow was the only one that made noise. a million memories made of snow that wasn't cold and never melted. then we started seeing the same colors and pictures and places ... when i opened my eyes, he opened his.

"when you made the mold, you broke it. there's no one like you," and with that i stood up and lit a cigarette.