My friend pulls up and swings around to embrace me. She is layers of musk and hard work. If I licked her arm, I'd taste salt. When I moved to the desert, this desert my friend lives in, I stopped wearing make-up. She never goes without it.

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I don't explore the desert, not alone. She takes me. She walks through cacti, bushes, points out javelina tracks, What? . . I whisper, and she snickers. She's educating me, and I'm teaching her about my fear. What do we do if we come across a javelina? She neither reproaches nor derides me, but rather delights in my innocence. But I am afraid.

I don't recognize myself when I am with this friend. I walk alongside of her through winter and spring desert with my hands in my pockets. When I'm with her I don't know what to do with my hands. My words are not attached at all to what I am thinking during these times, but they keep coming, and I always think afterwards, it was me - unveiled. Exposed. Raw. I think, it's that layer of nervousness which makes one so aware of words and body parts and breathing.

G
It was a strangely hot September day
C D
So many years ago
G
You could have fried an egg on the bare sidewalk
C D
You would have sold your soul for snow

Em D
Mary Lou's creamsickle was melting fast
Em D
And I didn't see the harm
Em D
In licking up that sticky white cream
C D
As it trickled down her arm

Chorus:
G
I licked her arm
C D
[He licked her arm]
G
I licked her arm
C D
[He licked her arm]

G
Out of all the kids I knew in school
C D
Mary Lou has done the best

G
When it comes to fame and fortune
C D
She's outdone all the rest

Em D
When i see her picture in the tabloids
Em D
I get just a little alarmed
Em D
At the warm glow in my trousers
C D
As I gaze upon her arm

Chorus, as many times as you want