When I leave his place it's dark out. I walk to the middle of town, right down to Main Street where the high school kids are cruising and shouting: like me three years ago. I feel the lights and the sounds sort of jangle my nerves, make my body dance as I walk. I duck into an alley and light up a big doob. Now I DO start laughing to myself, laughing and laughing. Me in a suit... guys talking baby talk... I flash on this psychedelic album I'm going to record some day called Hojo Night Chef. That's what I do a lot, turn little bits and pieces of my life into imaginary albums. This song starts coming to me, it'll be the first song on the B side of Hojo Night Chef. I start singing there in the alley as I pound out chords on my air guitar:

It's the American People's 
Encyclopedia of Everything
Yeah the American People's 
Encyclopedia of Everything
Look up war and it says stay home
Look up society, man, it says you're alone
Look up your song and it says the blues
Look up money and it says none for you
The American People's...

I'm spinning around now, staring up at the stars cutting light grooves in the sky, that's what my album'll look like. I take a solo on my air guitar then sing some more:

Look up Nixon, man, it says that's a lie
Look up lonely and it says dry your eye
Look up lost and it says well THAT's true
Look up love and it says fuck you
Fuck you fuck you fuck you
Fuck you and you and you...