The secret of life revealed in the sewer
Fighting, blood, Danish plates, and cruel, bitter snow
Sleep, wake, deathly-quakes, life is high stakes, Jake
I know the score, I hate having more, I hate having less even more
Shoes lost, wife's soul was a loss, oh yes, life is good, says the preacher man
Who's never sweated like us in the forgotten city ditches.
No sir. He and his kind are a certain entitlement, a chosen lot, but look what we got?
Nothing. That's what you see. Nothing. Good thing you can't count our breaths.
THANK YOU SO MUCH
For taking the time to read this and most of my hubs. I am not asking for pity, but my health will not allow me to churn out ten hubs a day. God knows I'd love to.
I LOVE AND APPRECIATE YOU, MY CHERISHED FOLLOWERS.
I know that. I did this myself when I was of age, about 22
Married a good dame named Shannon Sue. What a wife. What a friend
And not a friend in Jesus for I ain't no religious man, bud.
I am a man of means, hard work, a stand-up piece of clay with no compass
Shannon Sue still loves this mule, I say. I drink, I smoke, and I curse the very tides of life that peak through our picture window just waiting to drown us in our own sweat.
That's why I hate life. I hate it so much if I were all powerful like this God Shannon Sue's preacher keeps talking about, know what I would do?
I'd stop it. Dead in it's tracks. Life. What good is it? And for whom, bud? Did life ever do you any favors, bud? Tell me. Did it.?
This is a sad, heart-breaking look at life from a Brooklyn sewer worker as told to his pal, "Bud."
- Sometimes, the universe reveals itself in the most unusual places. Although this is a second-person work, it tells of "a" law and its simplicity that most of us have either neglected or forgotten.
- Take your time, please, as a personal favor, and smell the awful debris and refuse as you hear the yells, moans, and curse words of the hard-working, sweaty, sewer workers' as they toil their soul away for a days pat despising their lot in life
Thank you sincerely,
Stop! This might enlighten you.
Life, wretched life for wretches. That's it, bud. I just figured out the meaning of life
Did you know that? Hey, bud. Wake up. You only drank three Schlitz beers!
I just figured out the meaning of life.
Just wait 'til I tell Shannon Sue! Over the Thursday night meatloaf we always have.
She'll think that I, Leonard Buzzinski, a city worker for now onto 18 years, is somebody!
I am not a jackass. I am not a statue with a stupid pigeon that craps on my head
I am a man. A smart man, bud. Why didn't I think of this before?
Life, the wretched life I've regaled you and the boys for years about . . .I understand it.
You take this empty space, like an empty park bench. And in that empty space, you put a man
And his woman and maybe a couple o' kids. She stays home and primps for another kid and he breaks his butt working for her and the kids.
Yeah. And that is his lot and purpose, bud. To work, sweat and eat grime for the days of his life Just like that fella, Job, in the Bible said.
Then when this guy's days are done, he leaves. I mean by going under the ground. He is then nothing more than when he started. But he is now a pile of bones and dust.
His favorite Buick he loved more than life is now nothing but rust.
And his wife, and in my case, Shannon Sue, cries some tears, and tells her sister, Debbie, of her sadness and blues . . .
While the poor dead guy, although you can't see him is waiting. Waiting to see if he measures-up to the great God in the sky. I can tell you right now, bud. I don't.
What then is he worth? What then becomes of the things he leaves behind?
What's that, bud?
"There you go again with those hard questions you love to hate."
Thanks, bud. I nearly lost myself.
Where was I?
Oh yeah. I hate life.
I hate it with such a passion that I forget who people are. That's hatred, bud.
Hey, by the way, bud. You don't look so good.
You don't even look like bud. I only drank two beers! I ain't tight!
By the way, stranger, what's your name?
Oh, I am known by many names, Angel of Death, Grim Reaper, Keeper of The River Styx and on and on . . .
But I am the one everyone who leaves this life meets at once.
Well, smart alec, what's your name?
An honest question
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