Door. Slam. Thankfully,
it’s a slow week. I was so
pissed. It was big news and
so French—oh stupid words!
Considering all we had, we
moved on. Across the mess.
Toward the cab bay, which,
like us, was empty. Gearing
ourselves to adapt toward
the utilization of nothing.
The door is ajar. We sniff
network. And other works
such as teamwork and, at
last, homework. Time to
squeeze oranges and grind
beans. The charming squalor
of the refrigerator, only slightly
out of half and half. The eight
ball drowns. Time passes for
critical success and the luxury
of big comfortable chairs for
every meltdown or breakdown.
