God and I.
Out for a drink the other night after work,
Hands so soaked in soy sauce that the pads between digits become old Mexican mens wrinkled faces.
Condensation sweats through my diet coke like a marathon runner.
Blood between my fingers stains my bev-nap like a bad spray on tan.
Gods tired.
Eyes berried behind 2 glasses of cheap merlot and a little of that late night sentimental moisture,
it builds like water behind a damn waiting for one more glass to justify spilling over.
In erratic hiccups that earthworm there way down bad complexion.
Deep wrinkles like Grand Canyon splatter paints pin-wheeled deeper than bad coffee shop poetry.
The kinds of emotion that comes up to fast to hide and makes everyone laugh nervously.
A loud red mustang in a bumper car rink.
I try to make light conversation,
You know,
Girls,
Bosses,
Shitty tips.
Seem to worsen things.
Sometimes I run my mouth,
Sometimes its the other way around.
If conversation were a war, this would be the slaughter of a pacifist.
"Hows the wine you fucking cannibal?"
I though it was funny.
Maybe in poor taste, maybe I just didnt get herd.
Happens a lot,
I work in a loud place.
Name screaming customers a constant stream of needs impossible to meet.
Talking orders.
Always balancing priorities for a little gratuity.
"...I honestly think that Im worth 20% I mean come on"
I now realize what an asshole I must have come a cross as.
This is god
I mean really
Most people give 1 hour
Of one day
Every week
Roughly 52 hours a year
Out of a potential 8,736
Thats then less than 5 one hundredths of a percent
Now who do you think is having a harder time paying the utilities?