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It’s 3 PM
I just finished sleeping off
I got four hours to kill until
My shift starts
At the guard house
At the garage on Canal Street.
No food in the house
So I drove to
Tony knows me,
So I get my stuff half off.
If he’s in a good mood, that is.
Thank God for Medical Cannabis.
All I need is a can of chilli and a fork
I can cook with my car’s cigarette lighter,
They don’t teach skills like that at school,
No wonder kids these days can’t get work.
I never used a Pythagorean Theory
I get my can of chilli and a bag of
Look around like a schmo at an art fair,
Then I hear the crash.
The next aisle over is where the commotion is,
A local Cicero/Berwin mutant and her
Three little shits,
Two running around
And one in the basket
Sucking his teeth.
One little turd
Is hugging a sack
Of Hershey Bars
200 pounds of lard and bone
Both make a cacophony
Of noise, possibly English.
She sticks her fancy shake
From the out of place
Vegan restaurant in the front
Something she can carry like
A pimp cup from Evanston.
It’s entertainment around here,
One mutant takes out his camera
And starts taking pictures,
I saw these at a makeshift gallery
In some guy’s alley.
One shitty print of tonight’s drama
Sold for 40 bucks.
I ignored most of this and went to pay.
What do you,
Big Mama Mutant
And her little shits
Are in front of me,
A month’s worth of
High-Fructose Crap in their cart
Only aisle open, lucky me.
I’m just standing there,
can of chili and forks
and this lady barks at the youngyans
while dealing with the Mestizo lady
At the cash register.
Now that her cart-full of crap
Is bagged and ready,
She pays with her EBT card.
She didn’t even buy
The sack of Hershey bars,
She won’t hear the end of it
I got time to kill,
But I ain’t killing it here any longer.