onemorepanic

I wake up. 45 minutes late to work. I pull on the pants I wore yesterday. Canon River Jeans, green, carpenter 30 waist, 32 length. A pair of Vans, grey, suede, which I recently had my father purchase, 35 dollars clearance at some no name department store, laces tied in double knots across my size 12 feet, replacing my 4 year old red and black Puma's which I wore for months ignoring the large hole on the pair's right sole. From the extra futon in the room I use to lay things upon a red sweater, Old Navy, to pull over my stained Dillinger Escape Plan band t-shirt. I wrap a paper towel around my Oral-B battery powered toothbrush, and grab a travel sized tube of Colgate. Pull on my Mossimo sport jacket and throw on a fitted Yankees cap and begin walking. One foot in front of the other. To destination coffee shop, to fill cups with hot beverage and steamed milk under the arrangement that i'm paid for these tedious hours of patient small talk and smiling.

At 2 o'clock i'm released from my servitude to gain entry to the N15 Long Island Bus, Long Beach to Hempstead, the location continuing the wage slave timeline that would make up this day.

Cup of coffee lodged between my thighs, American Psycho a novel by Bret Easton Ellis spread apart by opposing grasps, my cordoroy green napsack to my left and just past it a drunken Irish woman who's disposition to loudly curse and mumble gains a new target when I give a distrupted glance just having noticed her by her "fuckin' niggers" outburst. I smile throughout most of my passage to the phrases, "I'll fuckin' murder you", "I'll rip your fucking spine out", "I hope you fuckin' choke on that coffee", and every so often a "FUCK YOU NIGGERS" for good measure. The rest of her outbursts during the 45 minute trip incoherent and rambling, or maybe just flat out ignored.

A middle-aged women sits across from me, Grande Starbucks red holiday cup between her mittens. She says hello, and asks me how I am doing. I say just fine and ask her about herself. She says fine and then realizes she's mistaken me for someone else. She asks me about the book I'm reading and she says that sounds pretty interesting and I tell her that they made into a movie and that she should rent it.

The bus breaks at a red light and a shopping cart rides along the walkway, it's eventual spill prevented by me, moving my foot, an inch forward. A thank you and a don't mention it. And then on cue my good friend says,
"FUCKING GOUGE YOUR EYES OUT".

I sell fake penises again. I peddle lubricant. I sit aside waiting for the rentals to roll in: extreme penetrations, lil pimp gangbangs, i'll suck your cum down for all of tomorrows hospital fees..

And I sell fake penises in the hood.

"Nah, nothin' will ever beat the GLIDE, you know the fuckin' ASTROGLIDE, damn you should hit me with a discount just cuz I rep this shit so hard".
"Dude, Astroglide's for high school kids".
"Yo word, tell me you hatin' the GLIDE".
"Plus that shit stains the sheets".
"That's why you need yo'self a sex room".
"Yeah, me and my one bedroom..."
"Nah, you gotta duct tape plastic bags together, throw em over ye mattress, then you've got yeself a sex room"
"Yeah, my girlfriend would love that"
"Now the secret with the GLIDE is an empty liter of soda man, fill half of it with water, then pour in the ASTRO, mix it up and poke a hole in the cap and you've got yo'self a spray and you just hose em the entire time, you gots to keep spraying, that's the key".
and his friends like "Yo, Vanessa Del Rio man, this bitch is money".

And I Have No Idea What's Going On.
And then I show him the better lubricant, because I know these things, and I tell him that this will never get sticky, and that he'll only need a tiny bit, and he'll never have to "just keep hosing", cuz for some reason I like the kid, and i'm gonna help him out, and he tells me he's gonna save this stuff for the good girls, and I tell him "that's the ticket". And he thanks me. And I still have no idea what's going on.

On the way home I'm confronted with another middle aged woman whom I recognize from trips to community college. She tells me that she's going to get a drivers licenseandthat she once paid $10,000 in cash for a convertibleandsomeone stole it a month laterandthat she's going to be a rock star one dayandthat she might be disqualified from the winter's karaoke tournament.
AndI hate herandam way too patient to tell her to fuck offandthat i'm way too tuned in to her condition to send her off crying, or worse her cursing me drunkenly a perfect sequel to the afternoons events. She asks me about the book I'm reading and she says that sounds pretty interesting and I tell her that they made into a movie and that she should rent it.

I get off the bus three stops early, and am freezing, but free. And i'm sure you have a lovely singing voice.

I go home and try to sleep but I can't.
Too many possibilities to consider.

I wake up and I go to work, and the jewish kid doesn't hold the door for me, and I actually brush my teeth in front of my own sink, and this guy wants to lend me a copy of this book on peyote, and some lady confides in me that she's waiting for someone to be done with the real estate section of today's newspaper, and the boss asks me whether i'd feel worse bringing home a pre-op transsexual, or a post-op, and there's grounds in the Colombian, and I just fucked up this guys drink on purpose, and i'm standing there grinning, completely comfortable, laughing with the pleasure that anything when looked at the from the right angle can be and will be absolutely hilarious. And then I get to leave.

RIGHT NOW:
I'm back on this here site a week early, the lovely
stella_marie and the surprise of a gift account in my mailbox. I sit here, killing time until I head out to the city via Long Island Rail Road to see her, awaiting our interactions.

For this Sunday I would very much like to see the World/Inferno Friendship Society, cuz unlike Patrick Bateman I happen to love live music and I hear these kids got what it takes.
Update over and out.
STOP.