He remembered that damn school. His mom didn't have much money, so he went to the school through Hyde's Orphanage. The one teacher that criticized him was Father F------. Pink tried to remember the name. He wasn't the only teacher that disliked Pink for his creativity.
Pink thought to himself why teachers hated their students so much. He always believed that the teachers themselves had to get torn apart by their better halves at home each day and night. They always wanted the lesser being, aka the students, to feel their pain.
By now Pink felt that certain anger he felt when the teachers would take away his poetry. The one poem that was read aloud to the whole class was the only one he could think of. It is the only one where he could sing to. Pink softly sang, " It's a hit, don't give me that do goody good bullshit." Pink wanted to get out of the house.
Leaving suite 1965 of the Castle Apartments on the 12th floor, Pink felt like a actual human being. This was the first time he had gone out since he last had to buy bread. That reminded him, he was out of bread and cigarettes.
Leaving the apartment, he saw the same bum that has been around this town forever. Pink was fond of him. This was a man that had the same creativity Pink had. The bum was an enthusiast of poems. Pinks favorite line came from some old play that Father F----- pounded into his teenage mind. Thanks to alcohol and repressive memory, he could only call it useless shit. That line represented his musical expression."Riddles-- all you can say are riddles, murk and darkness." That was Pink's music.Only he understood the truth behind the lyrics, and those who heard him play, were blind to his pain. He turned away to find a store.
"Mother will they try to break my balls?" Pink couldn't stop thinking about his mother. His teenage years were fairly normal. He was more youthful then rather than his younger age. He actually had a girlfriend, and was sociable. But this was only a phase, one of Pink's bad days. His mother brought him back to that individualism. She was supportive of his musical aspirations. But she didn't want to lose another man. Every time Pink was feeling extra down, she comforted him into a world of just them two. Mother was the wall. Moma kept baby cozy and warm. Pink cursed her in his thoughts.
On the way back from the store the bum had stopped reciting play lines. Now he was listening to music... loudly. Pink heard only distorted sounds so he went closer. As soon as he heard the simplicity, he knew it was Bob Dylan, but he couldn't make out the song. Pink really f****** hated Bob Dylan.
He receded back to room 1965, probably for another week or so, or however long he can stand it. This time gave him more time to think about the past. Pink lit a cigarette and began playing his guitar.
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