MORNING MAGIC,
FULL OF SHIT
FULL OF SHIT
I awoke with an ache, a twist in my leg, and
a sore head like my tumor was bursting. I
could be dead in an hour - and I figured that
for sure. 'Well, he was just standing there,
muttering something about hating another
damned day, and then he lost his grip on that
creamer with Half and Half in it he kept, and
it fell to the floor and crashed, and so did he.
I guess he was dead before he hit; that's what
that tidy nurse said when she first stood up
from being bent over his body. 'He's better now',
she said, like it was some sort of joke - when
the hell did the medical profession start hiring
comedians? Is that because of Obamacare? Then
the cop came over, asking me fifty questions like a
quiz show, like I was a culprit - 'how long have you
known the deceased...?' And the rest; what the hell!
I never even really liked the pain in the ass that he was,
always going on deep about something. He deserved the
dope he got, how's about that? Should I have said that?
Would I have been already locked up? How's this shit
ever get started - what a mess we're in. Morning magic,
full of shit, and I can't get anyone to listen.'
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