I’m supposed to give you this pen, with a cap on both ends; one in hand. That’s three lids for a one stick job. I’m supposed to tell you something, that’s what they told me. Returning to coloring.
Sometimes we age backwards.
I pass by the shiny silver trinkets, they’re stamped with approval from the internet; must be true. Fourteen ninety five for plated silver, turns your neck green overnight. (Ugh.)
I patch up leaks in the ceiling using a tattered old blanket; supposing it’s holding back the moisture. Pushing back and resetting, it all stays in place. Some level of control causing inference.
There’s a threat of a flood, electric panel sitting unprotected.
The joys of owning a home. I carry my motorcycle on my back; it’s broken anyhow. Sold it to pay the bills, because the repairs were over the top. Now I’m walking everywhere with this weight on my shoulders.
Eight hundred and sixty-three pounds. Yeah, i got this.
She cries, misty eyed ‘I got the job.’ She’s happy about something; they’re looking quite excited about life. Her partner is silent in the corner, scrolling the feeds. Neither put in the application.
Must be magic.
Loudspeaker beckons, do what you want; with whatever is at hand. Odd, considering loss prevention will hunt you down and charge you extra for the trouble.
Don’t ask, tell them everything.
Don’t I know you from somewhere? That badge of honor you wear looks familiar. Too many options to choose from. Too many options to see. Nothing makes sense.
Perhaps I saw it in a dream.