Pardon me, but these fuckers, they’re buying blotto tickets and they’re fucking with my serenity. Moving my bright red mop bucket for an emergency and they act like I got nothing to do but wait for them. I say excuse me, but they can tell I’m just a retired railroad worker. Not really, bastards fired me for sleeping on the job. I was too old to get anything but dragging the mop at this 20 trillion square foot grocery store. Heading for the Indian spice aisle that makes me puke to pick up some used diaper some shithead left there.
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Blog: Stillfugue Topics:Fiction, Poetry, Essays
stillfugue 
#1 by liv2write2day on June 8, 2011 - 11:50 am
Quite a story in so few words. You allow us to enter right into the poor old guys mindset. Good write.
#2 by Carl on June 8, 2011 - 11:20 pm
Thank you, Victoria. These are sort of crazy fun.
#3 by chesshirecat on June 8, 2011 - 7:18 pm
Yup, I know this guy. His name is “Flash”. He rides a panhead Harley Davidson, and blames everything that goes wrong on everyone but himself. Yes, I know this guy and few others like him. Good writing. I enjoyed this.
#4 by Carl on June 8, 2011 - 11:21 pm
Ah, thank you. It’s good and it’s bad that you know Flash! 🙂 Thanks for commenting.
#5 by Life: Between the lines on June 9, 2011 - 6:42 pm
ouch!!!
#6 by Kay Camden on June 13, 2011 - 12:21 pm
Serenity? What serenity? Haha.. guess that’s the point though. 🙂
#7 by Carl on June 13, 2011 - 4:41 pm
LOL. I think it’s in Montana.