THE THINGS I DON'T NEED
Your fantasies have become a task, and I grow weary of all
this gnashing. Pulling teeth from a bull in a battle must be
easier than this : repeat behavior savages me. Saddle me up
another glass of something, I'm not yet ready for the work.
It's early morning again, and I'm already quite dead. The
Small World girl ignores me for the hundredth time, and
I guess I'll have to take it and just ask for coffee, and get
my frigging ticket punched. One more of these and I get
ten and that's free - the kiss, or the coffee? Gee? I
never thought of it that way before.
I lost a lot of friends along the way, yeah; one or two
have jumped from Skyline Bridge, and another three
or four were killed on the road; one blew his brains to
kingdom come in a baby-snit about something, and
another one or two died of those nasty diseases you
hear about : distended colons leaking out the ears,
nervous disorders about licking stamps and attacking
cars, degenerative cyclopsian syndromes. Stuff like
that. I don't want to hear. Me, I paint cars for a living
now, though for the longest time I was a boring
desktop clerk; God, how I tried to find life.