A short Story
This morning required a trip to the gas station. I needed my breakfast (aka Strawberry cough drops) and so I found myself at the counter of a BP at 7:30am. There was a few people in line behind me, one man on his cell phone describing to his friend the process of stripping and cleaning a vehicle for the sole purpose of selling it to a junkyard and making 100 bucks on it. Nothing terribly out of the ordinary.
Another man walks in, and asks "Hey, does anyone know of a bar thats open around here? This is an industrial area, theres gotta be a place round here I can get a drink..."
Uhm.
I took umbrage as his description of the area as inductrial, for one. And two... ITS SEVEN THIRTY IN THE GODDAMN MORNING. Maybe you should have taken a few moment to take a fucking shower and put on something other than your paint stained sweatpants (a name which makes INFINITLY more sense to me now, ICK) which may have killed some time and distracted you from your disease for a bit. Or maybe next time you stop at the goddamn party store when its open so we don't have one of these alcohol emergencies again...
Mmm strawberry coughdrop.
Another man walks in, and asks "Hey, does anyone know of a bar thats open around here? This is an industrial area, theres gotta be a place round here I can get a drink..."
Uhm.
I took umbrage as his description of the area as inductrial, for one. And two... ITS SEVEN THIRTY IN THE GODDAMN MORNING. Maybe you should have taken a few moment to take a fucking shower and put on something other than your paint stained sweatpants (a name which makes INFINITLY more sense to me now, ICK) which may have killed some time and distracted you from your disease for a bit. Or maybe next time you stop at the goddamn party store when its open so we don't have one of these alcohol emergencies again...
Mmm strawberry coughdrop.