Craig Burns who lives on Normal St.

Craig Burns told me i was pretty, smart, had a nice rack and could rule the world if i wanted to, at 11:59pm on a friday night while we sat inside a small karaoke dive bar on Virgil st. I remember his tired but shockingly blue eyes staring me straight in the face as he said it.

Craig Burns was built like a lumberjack. He was thick handed, slim waisted with long legs that i already imagined being wrapped around. I don't usually like blond boys, but there was something wildly erotic about his dirty blond hair laying unkempt and unwashed atop his precious skull.

While the 100lb disheveled hipsters ripped apart Otis Redding and Tom Petty songs at Karaoke, we talked about music:past & present. Everything from New York 70s punk to the lonely and brilliant songwriting of Bruce Springsteen's Nebraska. The conversation was climbing to such intensity, that it was clear this was some sort of mental foreplay.

Craig Burns' eyes glistened underneath the red bar lights and my smile, while giving away my mental state, would not leave my face. He was 10 years older than I and more experienced and knew he could easily take me home that night without a fight. Hell, he could have thrown me over his shoulder and walked out of the bar carrying me like some kind of captured & clubbed animal.

But at the peek of our banter, Craig Burns took a swig from his Miller Light, then turned to me and announced he was going home to listen to his records. Then he got up and walked out the red velvet curtained doorway. Leaving me at the bar with his ghost and a scream in my heart.

Craig Burns said many things to me at 11:59pm on a friday night while we sat inside the small karaoke dive bar on Virgil st.