I once told my dad that a girl had a fishhook in my heart.
It was the truth and she must because now I swim around in my little bowl and the world looks so big and beautiful floating above blue gravel with her. But that's not the point...
SG has a fishhook and it's impaled my brain and is sticking out my left eye. Gross? I don't care, you girls were right. I should have never let it start. I've been away and trying to peek around like some preteen looking through a knothole at summer camp. But I shouldn't complain I'm working and making more than minimum wage to be some lackey. What the hell is with minimum wage? Some people go through way too much and that's all the thanks...
You get what you pay for(Sometimes I think this is true).
Fast, cheap, and good, you only get two(In this shit business I work in I think this always holds true).
I've again been told these things in recent days.
THANK YOU FOR SONG RECOMMENDATIONS, I shall check them all out once I get my cable connection (soon, yippee!). The morning you were leaving me with them, I was being cut in line by this stunning girl I see quite often at my coffee shop. I was late, late for work as usual, it was crowded and the dumb bitch stepped right in front of me. Simple accident. I'll allow I've done this kind of thing before. Off the hook? Fuck, you hot baby! She ordered her cursed caffeinated concoction and stood there, la-dee-la-dee-lazy-day-for-me. So Gary (we're all friends here) asks what I'd like this fine morning. I am fucking late and I want to yell, the same shit I get every morning, but it's my fault and I will just smile and get a cab. Now this is when I would excuse myself, pardon me, oops, did I just budge the line? I am so sorry. It happens. It does and I accept that, what does Miss pouty lips do? She shifts around, avoids eye contact and makes some mumble-mouthed small talk with my pal Gary. Hey, whatever, you're hot, do what you must, I'll get my coffee too. She's gone and I'll never think about it again. I'm going to enjoy my coffee and go find a cab. Note to non-New Yorkers: the hour and one half between 8:30A and 10A is a notoriously difficult time to catch a cab... So I walk out and make sure to shut the door behind me. What's that!? Heaven before my eyes! Lord Thank you! Taking care not erupt froth all over my shoes I start shuffling like a sprinter-robot, arms extended, body rigid, shuffleclunkshuffleclunk, towards the sidewalk, towards the yellow vacant light, towards the cab waiting for... Wait! No! Hotbitchcunthole, I hate you. You cut me in line and you stole my cab. Aaargh. Uuuugh. I'm tired, I'm late, I was up past my bedtime with the Suicides and now I'm going to have to walk 3 Avenues for a shot at a cab...
She is stunning though, I am only a boy.
That afternoon I floated around midtown amongst mostly pressed wool suits while listening to Francoise Hardy. It was liberating, and triste. Francoise is always triste. est. seulement. I know they fit there somewhere I'm just not sure how.
What's happened? What's with these mid-towns dressed all down-town? This is not how I remember business people dressing.
Perhaps I am not a New Yorker. I own no black. Who else likes color in their life?
At night I am too tired, I miss our days here. So bungled, so much more...
Litter questions around like leaves on the autumn floor.
It was the truth and she must because now I swim around in my little bowl and the world looks so big and beautiful floating above blue gravel with her. But that's not the point...
SG has a fishhook and it's impaled my brain and is sticking out my left eye. Gross? I don't care, you girls were right. I should have never let it start. I've been away and trying to peek around like some preteen looking through a knothole at summer camp. But I shouldn't complain I'm working and making more than minimum wage to be some lackey. What the hell is with minimum wage? Some people go through way too much and that's all the thanks...
You get what you pay for(Sometimes I think this is true).
Fast, cheap, and good, you only get two(In this shit business I work in I think this always holds true).
I've again been told these things in recent days.
THANK YOU FOR SONG RECOMMENDATIONS, I shall check them all out once I get my cable connection (soon, yippee!). The morning you were leaving me with them, I was being cut in line by this stunning girl I see quite often at my coffee shop. I was late, late for work as usual, it was crowded and the dumb bitch stepped right in front of me. Simple accident. I'll allow I've done this kind of thing before. Off the hook? Fuck, you hot baby! She ordered her cursed caffeinated concoction and stood there, la-dee-la-dee-lazy-day-for-me. So Gary (we're all friends here) asks what I'd like this fine morning. I am fucking late and I want to yell, the same shit I get every morning, but it's my fault and I will just smile and get a cab. Now this is when I would excuse myself, pardon me, oops, did I just budge the line? I am so sorry. It happens. It does and I accept that, what does Miss pouty lips do? She shifts around, avoids eye contact and makes some mumble-mouthed small talk with my pal Gary. Hey, whatever, you're hot, do what you must, I'll get my coffee too. She's gone and I'll never think about it again. I'm going to enjoy my coffee and go find a cab. Note to non-New Yorkers: the hour and one half between 8:30A and 10A is a notoriously difficult time to catch a cab... So I walk out and make sure to shut the door behind me. What's that!? Heaven before my eyes! Lord Thank you! Taking care not erupt froth all over my shoes I start shuffling like a sprinter-robot, arms extended, body rigid, shuffleclunkshuffleclunk, towards the sidewalk, towards the yellow vacant light, towards the cab waiting for... Wait! No! Hotbitchcunthole, I hate you. You cut me in line and you stole my cab. Aaargh. Uuuugh. I'm tired, I'm late, I was up past my bedtime with the Suicides and now I'm going to have to walk 3 Avenues for a shot at a cab...
She is stunning though, I am only a boy.
That afternoon I floated around midtown amongst mostly pressed wool suits while listening to Francoise Hardy. It was liberating, and triste. Francoise is always triste. est. seulement. I know they fit there somewhere I'm just not sure how.
What's happened? What's with these mid-towns dressed all down-town? This is not how I remember business people dressing.
Perhaps I am not a New Yorker. I own no black. Who else likes color in their life?
At night I am too tired, I miss our days here. So bungled, so much more...
Litter questions around like leaves on the autumn floor.
VIEW 7 of 7 COMMENTS
in the heart
in my head.
Never fear, I am always the consummate professional.
IT IS THE RIVER, AND ONLY THE RIVER, THAT IS BEYOND REPROACH.