A/N: Don't even ask where I got the idea for this because it came out of nowhere, essentially.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. If Jess was a real person and I owned him I would not have time to write…just trust me on that.

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I've spent 22 years in this zoo of broken faces

Parents and school children watch me sit on this neon nest, naked

She told me it was a small town. What she didn't tell me was that it's straight out of a damn Disney movie.

Things here will be a hell of a lot different than they were in New York.

There's a girl in a cage making love to a switchblade

There's a man behind bars milking abandoned cars

There's a priest in shackles building bombs out of bibles

I'm wandering around trying to find something to remind me of the city. It's useless, I know. There are no girls standing on the street corners to earn a little extra cash, no dealers trying to get little kids to run money for them.

I highly doubt I'll even find anyone with questionable morals.

And piano wire vines and the men in the vines

That spin round and round and round and round and round

New York was far from homey. It was scary, gritty street crime, existing on every floor in the rundown apartment complex we lived in. My mom was with a new guy almost every month, and often times they hit her until she begged for mercy.

They don't show you that sort of thing on TV.

They show Times Square, the ritzy parties filled with celebrities who don't give a damn, the MTV crowd.

Anyone who lives in the bad part of town would beg to differ with the glamorous image they've given the city. I sure as hell do.

Take me to the pit of celebrity pregnancies

I want to wear the skin of a magazine baby

Out of the corner of my eye I can see a mother and daughter walking down the street in matching attire. It would make me gag had I not figured out that this is one of the only towns in the world where you'd find that kind of thing.

This town is the epitome of perfection. I glance at a newspaper stand to see a completely pointless story as the main headline.

Take me to the pit of celebrity pregnancies

The five o'clock news is a fucking fantasy

I won't find anyone I can relate to here. I won't come across people who grew up locked in their bedroom with a good book to get away from their mother's flavor of the week.

I won't find New York here, in Stars Hollow.

And now I know why Liz sent me here.

It's impossible to get into any real trouble when there isn't even the temptation.

I stole rice from the beggar's death bowl in this zoo of broken faces

I told a widow that she was beautiful when half of her smile was missing

It was stupid, really. The cops dragged my ass home and Liz freaked out. It was just a warning not to get into any more trouble but she, of course, had to be dramatic. Next thing I know I'm on a bus to Connecticut, sitting next to some old woman who probably hasn't showered in years.

And I've done my addition:

Gun plus gun equals bang, bang, bang!

Liz doesn't know half of it. She doesn't know that when I was eight and she left me alone with her boyfriend that he decided it would be fun to hold a gun to my head and see how long I'd sit still.

She doesn't know that I was only fifteen when I lost my virginity to the girl across the hall.

And I've done my division:

Trash into trash equals trash flavored trash

I never had to learn how to sneak out. She was always so drunk that I could just walk out the front door without her even noticing. When she did notice I'd make up some bullshit story about where she was going that she'd lose interest in halfway through and then I'd be on my way to whatever party was going on that night.

The rebel thing was just a part of me.

I wanna see more dirty places

Take me to the hall of filthy faces

I wouldn't come home for days at a time, crashing at a buddy's house or just staying out all the time. It wasn't hard. It's not like I had anything to come home to, and school was just a distraction from everything else in my life.

I was smart, and I read more than anyone I knew but that didn't encourage me to go. It was all so redundant and pointless; I didn't understand the purpose in drilling the same useless information into someone's mind day after day after day.

The truancy officer was not my friend.

Then again, anyone who didn't know what it was like to live in filth didn't like me all that much.

There's a girl behind chicken wire coughing up ghosts

There's a housewife in a cage that vacuums all day

And now I'm here. Stars Hollow, Connecticut. The picture of perfection.

What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

There's a boy in a toupee speaking in resumes

And teeth-heads with no eyes on the carousel rides

That spin round and round and round and round and round

Liz grew up here. It almost makes sense as to why she's so screwed up. She grew up in perfection so she had to figure out what it was like to live in disaster.

I guess she thought it was the other way around for me. She always did say that my interest in books was weird.

Maybe she assumed I wanted to live in a fairytale.

How far off could she be?

I've paid my submission

I've seen the petition

I've done my addition

And I've done my division:

Trash into trash equals trash flavored trash

I give it less than a month before I manage to fuck everything up again. Two, if I'm lucky.

I snap out of my thoughts when I run into someone. I stumble back a bit and apologize, taking in their appearance.

She's in a school uniform.

Then I look up and am greeted with the bluest eyes I've ever seen.

"Excuse me," she says shyly, pushing past me and making her way towards the diner that I'm expected to work at and live above with my dear old uncle Luke.

Maybe I can make it longer than two months.

Maybe.

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A/N #2: I'm leaving this as a one shot. I'm not even sure if I like it, but the song just made me think of Jess for some odd unknown reason.

The lyrics are from "Trash Flavored Trash" by Blood Brothers.

Reviews are love.