anna she was a pastry chef at martiks; i was working at the marble bar i used to walk down to meet her after out last set, back then it didn’t seem that far and we’d talk about her brother, John Lennon and her time in france didn’t take a genius to see i didn’t stand a chance she’d fill me with stories and homemade shrimp lo mein with kisses and cake and walks by lake montebello after the rain i’d tell her jokes and i’d make her laugh and sometimes i’d sing her songs all the time wondering how i’d make this all go wrong she was warm dough and sugar i was cigarettes and beer she was living on bread and chocolate, i lived on vitamin c and fear and i think about her often though i rarely think it through if i saw her one more time just what i would do