Work, work, work, and everything smells like septic today, I don't know why. Taking any extra hours I can get at the job, just like a real grown-up. So this is what they mean by trying to make ends meet. My ends are nowhere near meeting, they aren't within shouting distance, probably not even on the same planet. Maybe I could work it so that they could at least be pen pals. That won't be any time soon, though. For now, my ends will remain strangers.
At work, you're doing your job and there are all these hostile little people coming up and being angry. The angry folk, what mountain do they live inside? And why do they come out to bother me? One guy, he had this little dog, he carried it around like he's a little kid with a new pet. the dog acted just as pissy as the guy, and I had to wonder what life was back at their place. Probably a bunch of pent-up bitterness and cold breakfast.
Two guys, they just keep talking about how they just came from the gym, they're good cop / bad copping it, one guy is more than happy with the great deal he's getting, the other guy acting like I'm raping his mother and making him watch. I want to knock their heads together, like in the cartoons, and there would be that little BOCK! sound and they both go cross-eyed and you hear little birds chirping. But life is never as good as the cartoons, so instead, I give them three hundred and forty-three dollars so they can buy a new camera.
One guy comes in, first thing, he's all noisy and making bad jokes and acting like he woke up and right off the bat smoked a huge bag of crack and then decided to go shopping.
There's a guy on the subway, he's passed out against the window and I can't tell if he's drooling or not, but he sure looks like he should be. When the light hits the graffiti on the window, it makes it look like a thought bubble over his head, like in comic books, like he's having some crazy dream about words I don't understand.