but it's only a story you can tell once, and it's just i don't even remember any of it.
i go in for my hours and come out and can't recall a single thing said.
just mumbling and a few faint faces and the next week schedule and other
tedious adjustments and the fact the mop is broken
and the dust pan tilts to the side
and there's never any fresh meat-
but plenty of onion,
and all girls quit in 4 days after they discover that it's indeed ***** and their acrylic nails aren't suited to scrubbing tiling and grime.
and my sweat drips and it still sticks to me. and i walk home and flip off ******* driving too close to me - challenging me for the fact that i even wake up to this and go at it day after day after day