BETWEEN THE MARGIN
AND THE LIMIT.
There's not anything really. In the sunlight,
it's all bright yellow, everything seems washed
out. Some steamboater in a dulcimer vest walks
wide the wild thoroughfare. I've known his kind
for years, and each of them's the same. Guys who
couldn't hold a jacket to a winter-coat nor keep
a steady job. All show, no go.
-
Some lame babe to my left is furious - or so it
seems - scratching off the four lottery things
she's just bought, inside the Quick-Chek, from
the vending machine. Where the heck did this
idea get started, that they're going to vend you
the millions you need? The sign says 'a thousand
dollars a day for life.' Huh? No wonder she's
pissed off, and I would be too.
-
I remember when those machine tried making
coffee. That was a real blast as well. Here comes
waddle-butt, the 70-year old gas-station attendant.
Oh Jeez, I gotta' go.
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