Monday

So you’re standing on the corner there and I’m waving and hooting at you but you don’t see a thing because you always had that talent of not noticing me and the bus heaves up and you get onto it and I’m trying to cross the street but there’s no mercy to be had on this boulevard so by the time I reach the farther shore the bus is two blocks down and accelerating like the Starship Enterprise, in a second or two it’s going to go zing-poof and disappear in a lightstreak so I start running but no way, I flash on the penultimate scene in Dr. Zhivago where Omar Sharif spots Julie Christie in ┬áher babushka on a streetcar and tries to chase her down but his heart explodes and he croaks in the gutter so I give it up for a bad job, clamber up on the first available barstool and have a lengthy conversation with a rock tumbler, some ice cubes and the amber stuff.

Fucking Monday…

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