[Intro — quiet room tone, piano searching] Well, I guess that's about all I feel like telling you. I mean, there are probably things I left out. Not on purpose, exactly. I just don't feel like getting into every little thing. You know how it is. And don't ask me how I got sick. I don't know. Or I know, but I don't feel like explaining it. Everybody's got some big theory about everything. You tell them you had a lousy few weeks and suddenly they're writing a whole book about you. I'm out here in California. Some place where they want you to rest. That's what they call it, anyway. Rest. Like you can just lie down and tell your brain to knock it off. [The piano wanders; bass enters] I met this guy here who keeps asking me what I plan to do when I get back to school. Whether I'm gonna apply myself. Whether I'm gonna take things seriously this time. I said, how the hell should I know? How do you know what you're gonna do until you do it? You can't just sit around deciding what kind of person you're gonna be. That's the trouble with everybody. They want you to tell them the ending before you've even gotten to the next part. Maybe I'll apply myself. Maybe I'll flunk out again. Maybe I'll do something different. I don't know. I'm not making any promises. [Loose, conversational flow] Anyway, I don't want to talk about what's next. There's not much to say. I'll go back in the fall. I'll see what happens. That's about as much as anybody can ask. Except I keep thinking about something. It's kind of embarrassing, actually. I wish I hadn't told so many people about all that stuff. I mean, I thought I wanted to get it off my chest. And I did, I guess. But now I keep thinking about everybody. Not just Jane. Not just Phoebe. Everybody I mentioned. Stradlater, for Christ's sake. That big handsome bastard. Always looking at himself in the mirror like he was some movie star. And Ackley, with his lousy teeth and his lousy habits and that lousy way he had of never leaving you alone. I used to wish they'd both disappear. I mean, I really couldn't stand them sometimes. [Trumpet slips in, almost answering the vocal] But now I miss them. That's the funny part. I miss people I didn't even like. I miss the way Ackley would come barging in without knocking. I miss Stradlater acting like the whole world was waiting for him to comb his hair. I even miss the stupid arguments. The way everybody kept getting on my nerves. I guess when you tell somebody about people, you start remembering them. And when you remember them, they don't seem quite so lousy. Or maybe they do. Maybe that's not the point. [Rhythm loosens; piano and saxophone drift] I don't know. I keep thinking I should've kept my mouth shut. Because now I miss everybody. Even the people I was glad to get away from. It's a lousy feeling. Not exactly lousy. I don't know what you'd call it. You get so busy figuring out what's wrong with everybody you don't notice when they're gone. Then you tell the story later and there they are again, standing around in your head, being their same old selves. And you wish you could see them. Even if they'd annoy the hell out of you. Even if you'd have nothing to say. [Brief pause — room tone] I guess that's all I wanted to tell you. [The band settles into a quiet, unresolved figure] Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.
