Over my hometown there is a haze

A strange orangey hue in the sky 

Just a few days after May 

I drive down Little Creek 

I hear the public buses and all the other cars squeak

I wonder if the guy next to me spent his retirement on that truck he’s drivin’

Oh, and then the sound of sirens

We all try to scoot to the side of the road but there’s not enough space

The ambulance crosses the double yellow lines, off in a chase 

Thrift stores line the street 

As do tobacco shops and restaurants full of unhealthy eats 

There’s even a place for men to go watch female dancers 

Yuck 

And I wonder if the street preachers have any answers 

Their message sounds more like hate than love 

But you know what?
I think everyone’s hoping judgement awaits 

We try in all our efforts to offer a cure for every ache

Even my office is on Little Creek

Come get your prescription: for Ozempic, for Xanax, for Naproxen, or whatever you’ve been missin’

Scammers could be anyone, the guy on the phone told me 

Was it a prophecy?

Turns out he himself was a scammer

It happens all too often

This is my home but it’s a cesspool

Or a petri dish, if you prefer 

All these nail salons and auto shops and flea markets could never cure 

This whole world is indeed cruel – at least on Little Creek

But you know, I drove 

South 

Toward the ocean 

And the haze lifted as I got closer to the beach 

There was less commotion

Interestingly, fewer people too 

Just the sound of waves breaking 

If I were to get in trouble, I don’t know who I’d call 

But that’s alright

I don’t know what to do or how to help the situation at all

They say the grass isn’t always greener on the other side 

And in the petri dish there’s nowhere I can hide

But I know there’s healing in wading in the sand and tide

I say a prayer for my hometown – right there