Scrolling the news and listening to the wind blow outside a coffeehouse called The Coffeehouse in what the Town of Normal is now calling Uptown Normal while longing for my adopted home a jog to the beach near Hayama in the Kanagawa Prefecture of Japan, democratic socialism reads like something I picked up from this eighties rocker chick who had kind of a witchy coke thing happening like Stevie Nicks if Stevie Nicks ever had black hair, big teeth or the last name Rath I pulled a nooner with after sitting next to her in some second year psychology class in the Pacific Northwest whose first name I can’t summon over the dominant memory of the steel chain she wore as a belt around a black dress that sounded like a tambourine when hitting the floor back at her place and would become part of the act morning, nooner and night while under her spell until the democratic socialism symptoms became impossible to ignore, requiring repeat visits to the student health center and one outside surgical procedure to shake right along with the chain Rath played like a tambourine the first, the last and every time back at her place in between.