coffee shop diary #5

he sat there simply tired. nothing more, nothing less. just tired. he wanted a smoke and a small house but he only had 15 cents. but today he had gotten a job with the fucking cirus so he was glad. who gets a job in the circus? that's like...old school...or something.

the walls were red and yellow. a lot. and he liked it that way. he wondered if the walls used to be white and how much yellow juice his lungs had contributed to this community project. he thought about his typewriter...so he opened the case and started. poetry flowed from his fingers like wet juicy grapefuit smashed with a hammer.

bull shit you say? you could smell it.