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God dammit.
Good Morning.
Headache.
Nausea.
Tylenol.
Shower.

To do list:
Find Johnny and apologize.
Say Hi to the pretty waitress down at the pier.

Stumble for some change.
Grab my pea-shooter.
Eat some week-old toast.
Out the door.

Walk down to Johnny’s spot.
Can’t find Johnny.
God dammit.
She was real cute, man.
Couldn’t help myself.
Where are you?

Walk around Johnny’s spot.
Left right left right left right stop.
Dammit, Johnny.
I’m getting ancy.
Where are you?

******** it, have to do that one later.
Onto more pressing matters.

Walked down to her restaurant.
Sat down.
“Orange juice, that’s all.”
Pulpy as hell.
I like it.
I like her.

Gave her a tip.
More than a tip, actually.
Almost too much.
But it’s a s**t job and I know she needs it.
More than I do, anyway.

Left abruptly.
“Have a good day.”
“You too.”

Walked back to Johnny’s spot.
He’s pissed.
Can’t blame him.
Ain’t MY fault his sister’s easy.
Ain’t MY fault she’s half my age.

Looks me in the face with broken eyes.
“You son of a b***h.”
Sticks and stones, cumstain.

Reaches into his pocket with a grin.
He pulls it out.
It’s as big as his ******** arm.
Metallic and cold.
He squeezes the handle like its his father d**k.
He shouts.
“I’ll bet you regret it NOW, eh, esse?”

To do list.
Find Johnny and apologize.
Say Hi to the pretty waitress down at the pier.
Change pants.

I pull it out.
Left right left right left right scowl.
Face him.

God bless you, Horace and Daniel.

Rock beats scissors.

Chik. Chik.

******** me.

Chik chik.

To do list.
Find Johnny and apologize.
Say Hi to the pretty waitress down at the pier.
Change pants.
Buy bullets.

This is futility.

Chik.

I’m doomed.

Pow.

I’m saved.

I sprint.
Run home.
s**t shower and shave.
The mirror says
“Job well done.”

Whatever.
If you insist.

Empty my pockets.
Hit the hay.
******** you, sun.
It’s the end of MY day.