(no subject)
You know what, guy. you can keep handing me $10's and begging me for cocaine and i'm gonna keep taking and pocketing those $10's and telling you, "Dude. This is the COAT CHECK, not the COKE CHECK" and you're going to stand there talking about Jesus and chewing on your cheek like you haven't eaten for days and you're finally going to try to give me a $50 and this is when I'm going to start feeling really sad. Not sad because I like you (because I don't) or that I'm sorry that you are now a complete waste of a person and not sad because I'm cornered in this tiny room while you lean over my counter for the 20th consecutive minute with your sweaty forhead that I can imagine how clammy and sick and cold it must feel and your yellowed skin and your buggy eyes and your brutal tone. I'm sad because you have a mom and a dad probably and some friends that are worried and probably you have bills that you haven't paid because you've just given me $40 for no reason and the longer you wave that $50 in my face it might be $90 soon, and I wonder if you have a job? you probably have a job. Also, did you know that I'm pretty sure you think you look sexy or something but really you look putrid. Just sick. Quit rubbing like that. And why are you talking so fast? and what language is that?! I hope that when you find what you're looking for, you go and do it off the back of the toilets in the girls bathroom because I continually sprinkle water on the tops so that your fantastic dream drug turns into a nice paste when you lay it down. you guys are like fucking ants - swarming and scattering and swarming and scattering, going away for a while until you're hungry again. I will do anything I can to keep you out every part of my life. you've already taken enough from me.
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