I can’t get it out from under my nails.  It’s motor oil.  The car broke down again, at a stop light this time.  I don’t know the first thing about fixing cars.  By some dumb luck, I got it started.  It shimmied for a couple blocks and croaked again.  I left it there, on the side of the road.  Piece of shit.  Let them impound it.  If the police find it, they’ll see the note I left on the dashboard.  “Broke down.  Wife’s in labor.  Can’t wait for tow truck.  Have mercy.  It’s a girl.”  They’ll tow the thing anyway.  Have you ever met a cop with an ounce of compassion?  Neither have I.

There’s no kid.  No wife either.  Just a piece of shit Chevrolet with irritable bowls and a junk alternator.  I’m more pissed about the pack of cigarettes I forgot to grab from the glovebox.  I’ll walk back up there tonight.  I don’t know why, it’ll be long gone by then.  I’d go back now, but I’ve already poured my second drink.  It’s too hot outside to be walking anyhow.

As you can see, there’s no television.  Sometimes I listen to the games on the radio over there, but the reception in this place is dogshit.  What else do I do?  You’re looking at it.  After work, I smoke cigarettes and drink this brown stuff.  If I’m in the mood, I’ll make a fool of myself with that guitar for couple hours.  Yeah, it’s missing a string.  Doesn’t make much of a difference for me.

Work?  Of course I work.  Someone’s got to pay the bills around here.  I’m a loader.  I made it up to manager.  Night manager, but hey, that’s still a manager – technically.  They dropped me down, when I told them I was cutting to part-time.  At a shipping yard.  You’d be surprised.  You can make decent money at a shipping yard.  The confetti was coming in pretty good for a while.  Forty hours a week, plus overtime.  You’re half dead by the end of the week, but your pockets are heavy.  It was probably a good thing, cutting back to part-time.  Twenty-five hours is enough for me.  I don’t do well with money.  You can only smoke so many cigarettes, and the booze thing was getting out of hand.  I’ve dialed it back now.  Just a little splash here and there, to keep the lips moist, ya know?

Yeah, I had furniture.  What, did you think I was working full-time to come home and sit on this milk crate?  It’s gone now.  I don’t know where.  I don’t care – somewhere in a Uhaul.  Kept the bed though.  Well, the mattress anyway.  What more does a man need?  A few pins to smoke, food, drink, a place to lie down at the end of the day.  I’m happy with it.  Happier now than I ever was before.  That’s the way it goes though.  Ups and downs, downs and ups. Sometimes you’re riding the bull, other times you’re in the mud.

Right now?  Oh, I’m definitely riding the bull.  It’s a shabby little bull.  A bull with short legs and a bad heart, but it’s a bull.  What do you mean?  No, I’m not worried about the car.  Worst case scenario, they impound the damn thing.  I’m about tired of paying these gas prices anyway.  I’ll get to work, one way or another.  I’ll get there, don’t you worry about that.  I told you, someone has to pay the bills around here.  I’ll show up Monday morning with bells on.  I’ll work my five hours and I’ll be back here to talk to you by noon.  The rest of the day?  I’ll do whatever I want.  See that’s the beauty in part-time.  There is no ‘rest of the day’ when you’re a mule fifty-sixty hours a week.  All you got left after one of those days is a few cocktails, a microwavable meal, a shower if you’re lucky, and then you’re waking up to do it all over again.  Yeah, cigarettes too – you make time for those.

Throw me that pillow.  No, not that one.  I spilled on that one.  The brown one.  What am I doing?  What does it look like I’m doing?  I’m getting ready to meditate.  You’ve never tried it have you?  Give it a try some time.  It helps keep your head from spinning off.  I’ve been doing it for a few months now, every day, like clockwork.  Not on the weekends, though.

You got any cigarettes by chance?  Alright, don’t worry about it.  I’ll pick some up later.  Let me know when it’s been twenty minutes, would ya?