“Shirts and shoes must be worn to be served.”
I’m not serving you my shirt! Nor am I going to wear multiple shirts.
My shirts are not for sale!
Drunken Mohabs slother-in,
being the quintessential racket
of attention-mongering-altruism.
The blonde is hot!
Oh, so stupid.
You’d fuck her.
…
Oh, so stupid!
Her infantile voice shrieks
Straight through
the clappers
That clang
the bell
inside the brain.
From vast ignorance
doth that bell toll
to a place
wherefore
the wise men’s eyes roll!
Lunatics’ fingers point
towards the tree of wisdom.
Heads, so full
of soft butter,
upon which
no Lord
could anoint,
nor could be viewed
any super vision.
Christine was her name. Christine with a, “C”. She stayed close by me, and we enjoyed each other’s easy company, each other’s eyes smirking at one another, observing the drunken, childish shenanigans going on over at tables three and four. It was a waiting game, together, me and Christine- waiting for the noise to Doppler away and soothe down; waiting for the beautiful time to pass as perfectly as it alway has and (she and I both silently peered to each other the secret that it,) and always will. Pass perfectly- the time. Not, “on by,” but by, on and on.,… She had the intuition that the other waitress and I kept sneaking attracted glances at each other.
We so wanted each other,
that other waitress’s loins and mine,
but this one, waffle-house-night would not be that stand. It could, maybe should, however, unbeknownst to the Great Power, which watches from above, giggling, she’s not my woman, and I’m not her man.
The crowd attempted to refuse to pay. The manager gave zero way.
I was supposed to leave after that third cup of coffee, but Christine’s beauty so Powerfully made me stay! I loved her more that was appropriate to tell.
I usually voice to women how I feel without delay with my sigma-attitude, “What the hell!?” (Why not?) “Say that shit anyway!”
She gave me honey for my black coffee. Golden.