Me and Queen were never friends in any definition of the word. She lived up in the top floor of a building built to break down and she liked to flick her smokes out the window. As it so happened, I would often be sitting on the bench beneath her window and more than once caught a still smolder cigarette in my hair.

Queen had two sons, Prince and Jester. Jester made a name for himself out in the big city selling stocks to folks who would never be as rich as him, so nobody calls him Jester anymore. Prince did his senior year a few times till they finally kicked him out and this sent Queen into a huff through the high school office, “Do you know who I am?” And all that.

Prince sells cars now, and I’ve bought a few from him.

Queen’s still up in that apartment and her sons don’t talk to her much. She’s still alive, I drive by every now and then to check if she’s finally kicked the bucket, but one day she’ll won’t be flicking cigarettes' into the wind anymore.

And when that day comes, nothing much in the world will change at all.

We enter heaven in each other’s embrace
Or not at all.