A short story... story
Short on heart my lungs slowly catch up up from my quick depart... I swear I just saw a baby with a bow and arrow... no, shaking my head I continue on my way. It's mid-day and the clouds are dark today with just a touch of gray. Light sprinkles blown with a cool breeze I'm kinda pleased, strolling along whistling a song grateful I'm not dead.
Cherry Garcia waffle cone's come into view thru a pain of shopping glass, grabbing my ass... damn, no wallet and no cash!!! rustling in my pockets, stupid stoner you even forgot your stash... this isn't gonna work I gotta mash back to the house. Turning around to begin the walk of shame, some little punk kid racing a razor scooter cuts me off screaming "your laim". You better not let me catch you you little brat... "whats your name" I proclaim galloping like a dumb slow great dane... "bozo the clown" as the little Rollerblade wheels go round and round, "that's OK I'll catch you slippin' around town". Take your 50 cent candy-shop money and push you down... call me a clown.
Homie huffing off... don't play today is love day, down on one knee tying my secret shoe. Lookin' up at so many roads only one comes into view... Pwew finally heading back home I need to smoke two. Oh well give the nicotine patch a lucky rub, one more monkey off... time to shrug. slug foot movement trail's away, making it home safe and sain.
Thunderkiss 65 says goodbye, and well wishes for the drive... I've gotta get to the store it's almost five. Now driving my vans as fast as I can... looking like some crazy burning man, tearing up the streets on my way to get sweets. Sugar is all that's on my mind by this time, smarties and pixie sticks... pick up quick. Cashier looking at me kinda weird... like she's never seen a saint before, or a dick. Grabbing some coin I exit quick.
Skipping down the slippery sidewalk like a sissy, I bump into misty. What's up chic have a pixie, "no thanks"... " I'm bloated and bitchy", she says with no shame. Dame alrighty then see you again... cycle psycho, later friend. "Flow off douche bag" she rags... "nag" under my breath, hers smelled like death. Following the fresh air without a care, winds from bel-air.