A Shitsville Narrative, part three.
by @louis-pollard
My spoon tinkles
and finds sanctity in the mug.
I toss a dollar to the waitress
and smile at her on my way out.
Nothing.
Nothing but the blank face
I always get from that bitch.
I don't know why I bother
going back to that place.
As I leave, I hurt a little
and realise that
it's the only home I have.
What a fucking sorry state of affairs.
I leave the diner and turn up my collar.
The rain spots my glasses
but I'm not sure if I care.
Shit could be a lot worse.