That's what I'm waiting for, arent I?
Lucinda Williams worked laboriously all day in a document depo adjacent to a coffee shop. She spent most of her time trying to work out why a document depo, coffee shop, drycleaners, and Native American jewelry store were in such close proximity to each other. Perhaps coffee stains led one to a drycleaners? Perhaps writing projects, binded and lamenated before a meeting deserved some last minute perusing, with a conveinant cup of coffee in hand? The inevitable coffee dribble resulted from careless averted attention was most inconveinant, what with the meeting coming up and all. The affectd business person would take his shirt off right there, curse himself for not wearing the stain-proof cotton button down, and head towards the drycleaners.
But chin up, like is full of setbacks, the coffee was good, and he was so well prepared for this meeting he could have the CEO in lingerie by lunch. But Lucinda still couldn't think how the jewelry store figured in.
Things were much more bucolic back home in Mexico. Not all these business types barking orders and demanding that she speak up, they can not hear her. She missed Bimbo bread products, homemade epinada's, and diving for starfish. She was a lonely woman, Lucinda, and she had hopes the US of A would make her a star. She angrily eyed taco stands and restaurants which imitated Mexican cuisine. Nobody cooked the way her abuela could, from the values and cultures instilled in the Mexican way of life. She home-schooled her children, and was constantly having to reprimand them for using phrases like "doode" and "radical". She couldnt get her favorite Mexican radio station to come in, and her apartment complex was awfully crowded and unsanitary.
This country had done nothing for Lucinda and her family except yell at them to speak English. Where were her millions of dollars? Where were her seven jeans? Fuck America, America was a rotten ben-day-ho as far as she was concerned.
Now let me tell you a secret:
Lucinda Williams does not exist.
She was not born in Mexico, she is not mexican. Her last name is Williams you fools!
Personally, I was hoping you'd have stopped reading by now.
And even though she didn't exist, every night when Lucinda went home, her piss smelt like coffee.
But chin up, like is full of setbacks, the coffee was good, and he was so well prepared for this meeting he could have the CEO in lingerie by lunch. But Lucinda still couldn't think how the jewelry store figured in.
Things were much more bucolic back home in Mexico. Not all these business types barking orders and demanding that she speak up, they can not hear her. She missed Bimbo bread products, homemade epinada's, and diving for starfish. She was a lonely woman, Lucinda, and she had hopes the US of A would make her a star. She angrily eyed taco stands and restaurants which imitated Mexican cuisine. Nobody cooked the way her abuela could, from the values and cultures instilled in the Mexican way of life. She home-schooled her children, and was constantly having to reprimand them for using phrases like "doode" and "radical". She couldnt get her favorite Mexican radio station to come in, and her apartment complex was awfully crowded and unsanitary.
This country had done nothing for Lucinda and her family except yell at them to speak English. Where were her millions of dollars? Where were her seven jeans? Fuck America, America was a rotten ben-day-ho as far as she was concerned.
Now let me tell you a secret:
Lucinda Williams does not exist.
She was not born in Mexico, she is not mexican. Her last name is Williams you fools!
Personally, I was hoping you'd have stopped reading by now.
And even though she didn't exist, every night when Lucinda went home, her piss smelt like coffee.