6376. MY FAIR SHARE

MY FAIR SHARE

My fair share of nothing  -  I've just found out  -  

comes to nothing itself at all. Well fuck-god-damn

for that. I better just walk away. I'll take myself to

the boat-docks over Perth Amboy way; maybe have

a drink or two at the Armory there  -  some big-time

restaurant with a bar and Spanish food. Or Portuguese,

what do I know? For you meat-eaters, they've even got

Rodizio! Which is like five kinds of meat, all you can

eat, brought to you constantly on a huge skewer. One thing

after the other, whatever you like, and carved for you right

there. It's nice. The place is nautical  -  got slammed in that

Hurricane Sandy blitz, but it seems they came back all right.

-

For myself, I just get a big bowl of rice  -  some Spanish 

concoction with peppers and things. Crazy how they serve

this shit; they should really just keep it simple. Then, upstairs,

there's always a wedding or reception for something going on  -

crazy, screaming girls in their formal attire, or not nearly at

all  -  there's no middle ground. They're chicken-dancing and

all a'twirl. I really don't know if anyone realizes that we're

watching from 'below' them  -  whoever laid out that stupid

balcony and railing area made a big mistake. For them anyway.

-

I don't want to sound trance-like or even stupid, but what the hell. 

(I think I'm getting drunk : should I stop right here? Is this already

too much confession? One time there was, yes, I, um, went to the 

men's room and, oh, well, better not; why configure bad aces in

a hand that's otherwise so good  -  full house, royal flush, or, no

is that just me? What did I say my share of nothing was? Nothing?

Yes, yes, yes, that's the one.)