Try to make a fucking nickel while they make you roll a dime, I’ve got ice and fire in my veins from fretting from when I might die and how high I can get, the dichotomy makes me ossified to the troubles of anyone I haven’t met, worried about who I am and what it’s all comming to makes me forget to buy a new pair of shoes or go to the swimming pool, locked in a prison of fear and doubt until I can’t get feeling of the elements or hear all the voices of friends who wanna hang out, just a hampster in a cage just a pidgin who never goes out till my life has passed by and wouldn’t that be a crime? When you try to make a nickel and you’ve always had the dime, but there’s nothing to spend it on now when your years are gone and you get annoyed by all the noise as you stare in the void and what’s the point of playing the game with all the fake people and the fronts they claim to make sense of the world that it’s all cool and fine and just forget I said anything cuz it’s all bullshit anyway, all the stuff going on in the world why should we think about it any more when there’s no barrier to the evil but holding me up is an optimism from another era that tells me it’s all gonna get better. So I’ll just sit here and feel like 15 cents.
I’m at work, two women of middle age in a yellow bug, the kind with the flower holder, came in and would not stop laughing. “Oh valet. So fancy!” Everything I said was funny and I began to feel happy and laughed along with them about everything as they bumble into the restaurant. Their car (despite being a convertable) reeked of weed. All things have an explanation.