Find the airport at 7 a.m.,
my heart pumping pure mini-bar.
Sit on the concrete by the carts and some girl
throws a dime in my lap.
You won't be laughing when you hear
how this one ends.
So I sleep through the entire flight,
don't really wake up til the cab driver says,
"Hey where you going? I forget."
Think of the time I came to visit you here
the year after Jeremy died.
The elevator's fast and pops
my ears out.
They're all waiting patiently.
I touch my name-tag,
should say, "HELLO
I'M too tired to smile today,"
squeak my chair once,
take a deep breath,
straighten my tie and say,
"What's the damage?"
The pause feels like an extra year
of high school.
The CEO takes me aside.
I'm down 12 points,
and they're selling.
The graphs in the boardroom show
by the time that
the market
opens in Tokyo
I'll be worthless.

So what I'm trying to say,
I mean what I'm asking is,
I know we haven't talked in a while, but
could you come get me?