Another Casual Thought

I sit atop my pedestal as I read another novel;
And listen as red and blue sirens pass the storefront.
An ambulance going to pick up a victim,
Or perform CPR,
Or rescue a cat from a tree.

And I wonder about whether the next door
Funeral home director is sitting in her chair,
Her gelatinous proportions too large for the
Mere man-made chair she's squeezed into.
Listening to those sirens;
An orgasmic chill runs down her plotting spine
And evily taps her fingers
And looks up at the ceiling and gives a
Slow smile.

Mouth

What's the matter with
Solitary coffeeshop visits and
Reading books in the corner?

Is it taboo to take a few seconds
To gaze a little longer or
Smile a little brighter?

What's wrong with loving
and then leaving
and loving back again?

Why can't you feel the person's
presence, but not say a word
Afraid you'll scare them away?

We all have those days, where
we had no idea, our foot could
fit so perfectly in our mouth.

Being the Rhinoceros

I woke up today with a scratchy throat. And watery eyes. What is this? This is weird.

While taking a shower, I sneezed. Three times consecutively which on any other occasion would be a novelty to me because I still believe the superstition that that indicates someone is thinking about me. But I was overcome with lightheadedness and the sheer force of the triplet sneezes made my nose a bit red and swollen, I couldn't even take pleasure in the thought of it. I couldn't even finish washing the conditioner out of my hair because I began getting the chills, I had to step out of the shower immediately. Great, I thought, now I'll have flat hair all day. Geez.

While pulling on my jeans and Rolling Stones t-shirt, I pondered my predicament. It's the middle of spring. I suppose allergies could be the culprit--but, I don't get allergies, stupid. Is it normal to just get it all of a sudden? And does it really make you have a sore throat and chills (and paranoia to the point of me talking nonstop in my head)? Questionable.

While searching the web for various sites on the topic, and spending a good thirty minutes reading related articles on WebMD, I diagnosed myself as having allergic rhinitis or more commonly coined as hay fever. But I prefer the more formal name--it makes me sorta think that I am a rhinoceros. Hay fever just makes me feel like I got hay stuck up my nose which is not as fascinating. For a second I thought I had the West Nile Fever stuff that's been freaking everyone out ever since allergy season started. But I rationalized I wasn't fortunate enough to get something that drastic.

So anyhow, I muster up the courage to go to work. It ends up being a normal day other than the incessant sneezing and coughing. I feel guilty everytime I have to hand people their change wondering how many diseases I've transferred to them. I'm a big ball of germs. I play with the idea of maybe wearing latex gloves but I don't like how my fingers feel floury in them. Or maybe wearing a sign around my neck that says "DON'T TOUCH ME." Or using tongs to give them their change back and tweezers for the smaller coins. Would that be too weird? Think about it for a second and imagine how much cleaner us humans would be if we did that...come on...admit that you sorta like the idea.

Half of the day is almost over and I'm enjoying a cup of tea when a frazzled looking customer walks through the plexi-glass doors. I can tell he's not going to buy anything. He's about middle-aged, white with dusty blonde hair that hasn't been washed in days. I wondered what bridge he must have slept under last night.

"I'm sorry to bother you but my car is stalled out there and I need some gas, can you spare any money?"

I hated these types. Losers who think just because you work at a store you have a bronze pot of money under your seat that says "In case of losers who need gas money."

I looked out the door and saw no car. And he had no keys on him.

I stared at him blankly and twitched my nose. If I had hidden witch powers, this would be a great time for them to be realized. I would like to turn this bum into a cockaroach or maybe a dust bunny.

"Sorry, I can't do that." I take a sip of my tea and wait for his reply.

"Come on, just a couple of bucks. I have to get home to my wife and kids. They're waiting on me. I really need your help."

I grimaced at the statement of him having a family. This guy had no wedding ring. And if he really was a father, I felt sorry for the bad fortune of having such a loser as a father. If he had said, "Come on, I need money to get hopped up on heroine and then crash out on a matress covered with empty beer bottles..." I would have beleived that and maybe have given him a quarter. But then again, it was hard beleiving anything coming out of his mouth because of his dirty cut-off shorts, long ape-ish leg hairs contrasting against his pasty calves, and his pungent stench of slim jims.

I got off of my stool irritated and tired. This conversationw as draining me. I looked at him face to face and said, "Sir, I--I--I--ACHOOOO"

And there it was.

My sneeze all over his face.

It was quite disgusting but so entertaining. I watched his face contort into a twisted ball of shock. As the realization seeped into him, he shivered and slowly began to walk away. I watched as he walked out the door, paused, wiped his face on his already dirty shirt and walk off into the distance.

Well, that took care of that.

Having allergic rhinitis sure comes in handy when you need it to, I tell ya what.

It's so hot 

Andy in full gear 

Paintball Champions (Patrick, Pete, and Andy)

Daddy's Little Girl

My father thinks that I'm a lesbian....but I can't be quite sure.

I'm not though. I'm not, though? (Raised eyebrow...) Confused, I guess...no..no Questionable...curious....but anyhow...

We haven't talked about it face to face. Just little hints and vibes I get from him. Like curious sideways glances as if trying to probe my psyche or quick headshakes of frustration...

The thought of it sorta makes me laugh and want to help the charade along by maybe buying more guy shirts and cutting my hair shorter than it already is. Or maybe putting K.D. Lang's picture as my desktop. (Genius!) But then I don't want him to have a heart attack...or a broken one at that.

It started when I began working at our family store. My days were perfectly scheduled to make time go by faster and just be more efficient. Get in at 10:30 A.M. Restock the scratch-off tickets, put out the latest results, change the lotto jackpot sign. 11:00A.M. stock the soda machines and chip racks. 12:00-1:30 p.m. take care of the lunch rush and Pick 3 rush. 1:30 p.m.-3 p.m. miscellaneous dusting and stocking.

And then the time of day when the sun seems to shine a bit brighter....3 p.M. watch the Ellen Degeneres Show. She's funny and it makes me smile. My dad noticed my little afternoon pick-me-up and even began watching it with me. He thinks she's amusing in a weird androgynous sorta way, i guess. Whenever the signal would fade on and off for that channel, he'd hurry to the roof to correct the fuzziness. He's a sweetheart and it was good doing something we both could share and enjoy.

But then word got out about her homosexuality somehow. The cat was out of the bag. I dunno...maybe he was watching news or something and a blip about her new mistress bubbled up to the headlines. Or one day while standing in the grocery line he saw a tabloid headline...something about how Ellen prefers smaller chested women with blonde hair over a slim waist and big feet...those darn tabloids..! Or the article about how curiously similar Ellen and Owen Wilson look...that darn Owen Wilson...god bless 'em. Anyhow, Dad was talking to my little sister and my little sister reported back to me, "Annie, Dad says Ellen is nasty because she likes girls."

He never joined me in watching Ellen's show ever again.

Which was fine. I could be a solitary spectator. But I had to admit--I missed him.

But then there was the night I was online and I just so happened to be in the market for some new undergarments and was perusing through the Victoria Secret website (which is a horribly, non-user friendly site) and I didn't notice my father behind me watching television while simultaneously glancing in my direction with a confused look on his face wondering why his daughter was so staunchly concentrated at looking at the skimpily clad models on my screen.

That night I heard my father's exasperated voice question to my mother, "Do lesbians run on your side of the family?"

Chocolate Eyeballs

Another day behind the cash register and I was bored. Usually I would be hungrily stocking the shelves trying to make every single label perfectly perpendicular to the flat surface shelf so each would be beaming its bright label at the next unsuspecting customer. Buy me! Buy me! That's what people are unknowingly bombarded with as they walk through the aisles with perfectly aligned products--subconscience verbal abuse by inanimate objects. It's a science, really. But today, all the shelves were fully stocked, every label face-out, every object dusted to perfection.

I could reorganize the lottery tickets. As fun as that would be, it would confuse people too much because they'd already gotten used to this schema that I'd put in place a week ago. All containers were full and each ticket name shone brightly through the plexiglass cubicles. I spent extra careful time to cut bright, fluorescent labels to show what the new tickets were and their costs. It was a beautiful sight. I pondered where the new tickets that would be coming out next week would be placed. Maybe above the $1 Money Jars, or the $5 Gold Mines, or the $3 Cashword, or the $2 Pure Gold or the coveted spot above the best selling $5 ticket--Break the Bank. If the tickets were personified they would all be in a flutter and discussing who deserved to be above the Break the Bank ticket.

$1 Money Jar: Well, I should be placed there because people love $1 tickets and I should obviously be above the best selling ticket overall. And come on...my name alone..."Money Jar" implies my associated nature with "banks" and the eminent "breaking" of them. People break their money jars all the time...

$2 Pure Gold: Come on. I'm pure gold. Ya put that in banks. Yadayadayada. I deserve to be above there. Someone...anyone...throw me a gold nugget...please!

I was snapped out of my lottery ticket daydream by the ding of the opening door. I saw a little boy run inside followed by his father--Edward.

Edward had been coming into the store for who knows how long and we had never really gotten past the conventional "How ya doing?'s" and stuff like that which was disappointing. He was gorgeous and so sweet and nice. Sometimes I just wanted to pounce on him--eat him up--show him things he never thought possible...

A few months ago, it was revealed to me that he had two children but he had no wedding ring on so that was a sign right? Or was he getting it cleaned for some reason?? Maybe he was recently separated? No matter, we had casually developed this air of flirtation and the tension between us was suffocating. There was an obvious attraction there. It was as if we were characters in a sitcom and we were the two that belonged together and everyone knew it except for the two characters and they just seemed so oblivious and----

"Hey, how's it going?" Edward coyly asked me. He leaned against the counter and it gave a squeak. He had these amazing chocolate brown eyes that held their gaze on me and it was intoxicating.

"Hey, Edward. Nothin much. Just the same ol' stuff."

"That's cool. Hurry up, Josh. We gotta go." His son scurried left and then right overwhelmed by our wide selection of candies and sweets.

"So...uh...do you go to the movies and stuff?" Ed asked very nervously and uncomfortably. This was a guy with two children. Surely, he had smoother lines than this.

I smiled. "Yea, I go the movies all the time. How about you?"

"Yea, yea, I like a good movie here and there. What was the last movie you just saw?"

"Hmm...I saw that new kung-fu movie that came out last weekend. It was surprisingly good."

"Oh, yea, you saw that already? Man, I wana go see that." There was a pause as we locked gazes and then we both turned away at the exact moment. "Hurry, up Josh. They got ice cream too. Here look vanilla."

"Vanilla is the best." I say. Geezus, I'm such a dork. Vanilla retard. Vanilla groupie. Vanilla whore.

"So did you go see that movie with your boyfriend?"

I paused. He was trying to dig for info and it was so cute and endearing. I looked into his creamy chocholate eyes and was lost in them. "Nope. Just went with a friend."

There was a nod and a smile. I couldn't take my eyes away from his eyes. I wanted to fall deeply into them. Swim in the pool of his irises. Sleep in the folds of his eyelids. Run through the fields of his eyelashes.

There was a crash as a jar of lollipops fell to the floor. Suddenly Josh was running around in a hyper, 5-year old frenzy.

"JOSH! STOP THAT!"

But all I could do was look at Edward's eyes (though wrought with frustration with this son).

"JOSH! HURRY UP!"

His delicious chocolate eyes....

"DON'T DO THAT!"

His gorgeous chocolate eyes...

"YOU ARE IN SO MUCH TROUBLE!."

His completely edible, made-for me, creamy, dark, come-hither and be my love-slave, chocolate eyes.....

"Sorry, he gets hyper like this all the time. JOSH!"

I smiled. "It's ok. I want to eat your eyeballs."

My body froze and I felt like I was paralyzed. No way. Did I really say what I think I just said...OUT LOUD???

There was a mind-numbing silence. Josh had tired down and was sitting on the floor now, his hand on his father's leg. Edward looked down at his son and then back at me and now his eyes questioned whether he heard what he thought he heard.

"Gumballs! We have gumballs. Did he want some gumballs?" I motioned to our colorful gum section and gave a sigh of relief when Edward merely shook his head and let the strange (Twilight-esque) moment melt away behind us. Thank the heavens for gumballs.

Finally, they decided on a pack of green apple gumballs and a pint of vanilla ice cream.

There was a pause as I gave him his change.

A question in his eyes and a patient reply waiting on my lips.

But then he began to walk away. I wanted to scream COME BACK COME BACK ASK ME ASK ME ANYTHING AND I'LL DO IT!!!

He looked back at me and I looked at him and we both smiled. I watched as the glass door shut behind him. He started up his car and drove away.

I couldn't wait till the next time he came into the store.

Wednesday Afternoon at New Amsterdam Coffeehaus

"So have you gotten to the point where you can't stand the stink of money yet?"

"Hmm...I don't think so. There are times when there are people who bring in really smelly money. And that's gross. But right now, I'm happy with the fact that I've been able to hold so much money in my own hands."

"Haha. Man, yea, I can't stand it though when people come into the store and they're looking for their money and finally they realize it's in their sock. And I'm watching in horror as they unlace their shoes and hand me a filthy bill smelling like goddamn feet."

"Geezus."

"And the women who put money in their bras? What's up with that?"

"So you think fat people stink because they can't reach everywhere cause their so fat?"

"That's my theory. They shower or whatever but there ain't no way they can scrub under every single fold of fat, right? That's why they smell. And its a common smell among fat people. I know, I've got my share of obese people who come through the store. It's all the same. I'm not makin fun...I'm tellin the facts."

"Yea, there are some stinky people who come into the bank and there's this one guy who just smells so bad, I just wana hurry up and count the money. He can't walk away fast enough for me."

"Hahaha, that's funny."

"Tell me about it.....hey, since when do you smoke cigars?"

"I dunno. Just when you said you wanted to smoke cigars. I have to say I've smoked more cigars then cigarettes lately. I guess that's a good way to stop smoking cigarettes. haha."

"We definitely need to go get some better cigars. These things just ain't cuttin' it."

"Yea. We need to find a good cigar shop. Did you know the cigs in the vending machine here are five bucks. That's bullshit."

"One time, me, **********, and *********** bought a cigar down in ********** and we all three were puffin at it for like an hour and we still weren't through with it before we couldn't take no more. That's a real cigar."

"That's cool. Hmm...I sure could go for some onion rings right about now."

Naked and Bleeding

Peel off my shirt
Unbuckle your belt
Kick off our shoes

Keep your socks on.

Nothing to lose
Don't worry
We'll clean up later.

Pull me away.
Hold me close.
Fast forward...then rewind.

Lost and tangled
Suffocating (...breathe...)
Falling apart(...stay close...)

Keep your head on.

Now all I feel are
Your finger prints on me.
Don't worry...all bruises fade.

Are you there yet?
Let it wash over you.
And let me watch.

Keep the lights on.

Then you ask about my scars.
Don't if you can't take
The bleeding.

For now I'm sitting on
Your shoulder...
With white wings and red tail.

Existing somwhere between
a temporary fascination..
and a long-term complication.

Two lesbians walk in....

Two lesbians walk into the store in a very nonchalant manner. I recognize them immediately.

I could refer to them as many things--"The two chicks who buy lots of fruity chews and candy" or the "The shrimp fried rice with extra shrimp chick and the pepper steak chick"...you get the drift. But the "two lesbians" seems so much more appropriate as I watch them walk right past me with interlocked pinkies to the back of the store to order some food.

One of them is on the hefty side with tiny braids crisscrossing her scalp. The other is slimmer with sleek black hair and long, hanging "Mother of Africa" tits. They were gorgeous, really, in their own right (the two individuals as well as the tits).

The group at Billiard Bar 

Me and my big sis, Nancy 

Me and Adrian 

Recognition

She stood there, still like an icicle
Cold and unwavering, holding her breath
As he passed by

She had recognized him from afar
Far back from the trenches of
The past

And she sighed. Seeing a tangible
Form of him that so casually trailed
Through her mind so many times

It was like a dream. Was it really him?
Yes. Of course it is.
But she knew he did not recognize her.

Clutching her purse in one hand.
Squeezing the basket full of groceries
in the other.

She waits and lets his presence wash over her.
See me? She silently screams. Let my face
fall into place in the puzzle of your mind

And recognize me. Take that instant and
Sigh with surrender, and smile.
Tell me how much you've missed me.

And then we'll walk through the dairy and
cereal aisle and realize we both like 1% and
Captain Crunch. Let's get married.

But no, my fear grips me. You're a bit ahead of me now
Looking at the grapes. You look over your shoulder.
And see a girl picking lemons.

You think, Hey that girl sorta looks like......what's her name?
Even pessimism creeps into my hopeful thoughts.
And that's all. You turn back to your goddamn grapes.

Look how my mind has wrapped and twisted
Your presence into a wave of yearning and expectation
Only to crash onto the fragile sands of my hope

There's probably a girlfriend or a wife waiting
For you to bring home the groceries for dinner
And doesn't appreciate the kisses you offer before bed

So long ago, so long ago, but was it that long?
How could my memory fade so easily in your head
While your face was always present for me, clear and crystal

Yearnings of a madwoman, yearnings of a stalker
Sigh. This is silly. If I were normal, I could just walk
Up to you and start a conversation, end with an invitation

But I am an icicle, cold and unwavering

Here I am

Hmm...I've been called alot of things before. And recently I was called a racist, a liar, as well as being referred to as ignorant of the Vietnamese culture all in one unsuspecting morning when all I wanted to do was eat my cereal in peace.

Oh, please, don't make me gag, Anonymous Poster. But to clear some things up, Am I any of those things you so vehemently tag me as?

Sure, why not? (Even though it was not my intention to do so.) If it's the persona I'm taking when writing than that's my right and it's your right to call me that but with such hostility? Did I possibly stub your toe in a past life...or maybe hit you in the face with a dodgeball when we were in gym class in elementary school? If so, I apologize, I just don't know my own strength...

And referring to your lung cancer comment. Oh, man, I wish. Do you know how many more presents and money packets would be sent my way if that were the case. I'd probably get a sweet settlement from the tobacco companies too....Geez...You have no idea.

Bronze

Sometimes she reflects on herself and the things that have made impressions, footprints and scars on her life.

She reminisces about some theory she can't quite remember the name of or who thought of it...but that they had discussed in class one day about the theories of human psyche development...one in particular about how we are constantly changing and we are different people placed in one solitary body. How who we were ten minutes ago has undergone numerous changes and now ten minutes later you are a different being. This brings comfort to her mind...

The theory rings true to her as she lays by the pool and thinks of who she is in this moment. The girl in the fuschia bikini and swimming shorts lying on the plastic lawn chair bronzing in the beating sun and feeling the beads of sweat form on her smooth skin and the contact of the plastic lining on her body. She'll probably have imprints on her thighs and stomach. She revels in the weight of the cigarette smoke filling her lungs contrasted with the lightheaded dizziness in her head that puts her into an almost hypnotic state. But she isn't a chain smoker. She only does it on occasion when the situation deems fit and today in the deliciously lazy afternoon of nothingness, a few cigarettes aren't only a spontaneous pleasure, but a neccessity to raise the bar of relaxtion.

She turns over and continues reading her book which she is drinking in like an alcoholic to vodka because she had been on a literary hiatus for some weeks now for lack of time to go to the library. This novel was particulary enjoyable because the author had an uncanny style of writing similar to her own and she internally aspired to have her own thoughts binded in a tangible form like this and maybe somewhere along the road in the future, some stranger would be sitting in their lounge chair next to the fire with her book in hand thinking exactly what she was thinking at this moment...That's damn good writing. She couldn't discern which was more enticing--the thought of other people's praise as validation or a final conclusion to her own lost journey for value and self-worth?

The next few days of nothingness were like gold flecks in a watering pan. She took one glance at the passing clouds and closed her eyes and pushed all thoughts of the impending cease of all of this by the end of week when she would be tossed back into the mundane life in Dallas where she would be back behind the cash register where no one knew her name, but only her feigning smile.

Meatball War

My father had been having a very tiresome morning.

It didn't help that my mother kept pestering him about things that were neither here nor there which made it just empty air transforming into lead weights dropping into his ears. And yet his bottomless well of patience helped him keep his hands steady on the steering wheel and his right foot not too heavy on the pedal.

"....and when are you going to clean out the back shed? And then the grass? I could probably feed all the cows in India with all the tall grass growing wild back there..."

"I'll get to it when I get to it."

I had been hearing their constant back and forth trivialities since I was young and it had become commonplace now. I'd learned to zone them out and tune into my internal radio or listen to the melodious voice of Joseph Fiennes as his perfect English accent falls from his lips.

"And I don't want you going over to George's anymore. All they ever do is talk you into playing cards and you don't even know how to play poker! Don't you know that's the only reason why they want you over there?-- To take all of our money!"

"Yes, dear, it's a conspiracy between George and his wife to see us on the streets because they have nothing else better to do." My father said this in his monotone voice, dripping with sarcasm.

My father was always a calm man, never really raising his voice with mom or any of us kids. But when he got upset you can tell with his eyes and his pensive silence that could crack concrete.

"Don't you get smart with me, mister. You're not going and that's that."

He always let my mother win even though he'd probably find a way to go to George's anyhow while conning my mother into making George a custard pie, too. He always had magic tricks.

We pulled into the parking lot of the Hong Kong Supermarket and my mother said she'd be over at the tofu shop and me and dad were supposed to go buy some bread at the bakery.

As we walked side by side, daughter and father, I could tell he was glad to be away from my mother even for just a few minutes. In the little strip of vendors, there was a bustle of people doing their Sunday shopping.

I asked dad, "Should we buy $1.00 or $2.00 worth of bread?" And realized he had wandered off to one of the neighboring vendors. I decided two bucks and quickly paid the baker and went to find my father.

His salt and pepper hair stuck out in the crowd in front of the Vietnamese fast food place. I realized that there was a sort of verbal argument going on. And it was being led by my father.

"All I want is one meatball! Why can't I buy what I want? You have plenty of meatballs there, just let me buy one for a $1.00!" I stared in a twisted ball of embarassment and shock, letting my eyes flick back and forth to see if anyone around looked familiar but luckily they were all strangers.

The old woman behind the counter had a stern face, small eyes, and powder white skin as if she'd pressed her face in a vat of flour. She might have been beautiful when she was younger but now she just looked like a bitter old hag who wouldn't sell a meatball to my father.

"We have a $2.00 purchase minimum. You have to buy two for two dollars."

My father huffed and I could see his eyes turn a red hue. He was pretty upset. But my embarassment seemed to have melted and I was enjoying watching my father's battle.

"$2.00! What if I was a hungry man on the street with just one dollar and needed something to eat?! Would you still make me buy two dollars worth. You old woman, you don't know anything! Where's the manager? I know you're not the manager. Tell the manager to come out here!!"

The old woman rolled her eyes and called out to the back for the manager who was a young man. Maybe her son?

Dad leaned on the counter and pointed to the pile of meatballs. "I want a meatball. Just one. N0t two. Not three. Not a half. One for a dollar! But this old hag won't sell me one. What kind of business are you running here?"

Hmm...does dad really like these meatballs this much? And I know he had three dollars in his hand, not just one. I stood placidly behind him wondering if people were wondering how embarassed I was feeling when in reality, I was happy my dad was doing this. I also didn't know how to speak Vietnamese so I coudln't chime in.

Finally the exasperated manager gave into my father's reasoning and packed up one meatball to go and took my father's crumpled dollar.

Even though he hadn't been in many confrontations in his life, he was walking away weary from this battle yet, my triumphant dad held his head high with his trophy meatball held tightly between his hands.

Rain Puddle

I am a constant confusion.
A contradiction of my reflection.
Striving for eclecticism.

The rush in my head
Takes me there
But pulls me back.

I accept my visitor status
In your world.
Doesn't that make
You weep.

I'm also an anachronism
In my own universe.
Doesn't that make
You laugh.

Multi-talented in ways
Your mother would not
Approve of but I was never the
One for pillow talk

Don't try to pigeonhole me.
Or mold, break, crush, bend
Me into your
Safe, square categories.

My left foot is in
The trash can
And my right is in
The rain puddle...

Scratch-Offs

Hmm...I wonder what numba that Break the Bank scratch-off ticket be on. Probably dey done sold all the winners already. Look like Miss Redhead gone buy all of 'em noways.

"Could I get the rest of those Break the Banks, please. Thanks"

Dang, lady, get out the way so I can buy my winners, please, shoo. Oh, I'm sho glad that nice register lady is here today. I thank that the owner's daughter. She remind me of my own lil' gal, Chaleene. Oh Chaleene, if she can see me now. Her ol' pops wastin' his Social Security check on some scratch-offs. Well, if I ain't gonna lose it here, I'ma lose it on the boat over in w'ouisiana. Or on some tv dinners at the sto'. And I always gotta buy me some honey buns for dessert. Maybe I buy me some new razors today. This ol' salt and pepper scene on my face gettin tired.

Only two more people left in front o' me. My poor black, ashy legs can't stand this standing! Let's look over dese winnas I already done scratched off. Two dollars on Coyote Cash....five dolla's on Bingo (man, dat Bingo sho is fun...which reminds me that I gotta tell Zoo I ain't goin to the Bingo tourney this weekend..ooh-wee he sho gone put up a fuss.)

What's this? Awe, why can't people have the right amount of money in dey pockets before they buy something. Who this fool thank he be? Lookin on the floor for some stray change. Oh alright, the regista gal gone let him slide this time. Man, I would told that fool to leave his driver's license and a slap in the face...and tell him to better his manners straight befo he come in dis sto' again. Alright, just one more customa.

Dang, Mrs. Wally from the funeral home. I dint even recognize her from behind. Surprising cause that sho is a big behind..hahaha...some thick hamhocks, I tell ya what! Oh, lord, forgive me. I know, I just know, she gone buy all the winners up now. She always seem to muster to buy at least a hundred dolla worth a tickets. Ooooh, her living room must be scattered with the scratch card shavings...they probably get mixed up in the ashes urns of those cremated folks, sho nuff. If I done known Mrs. Wally was in front of me I woulda brought my sitting chair in line and maybe a beer.

That reminds me of what I gotta do befo my fishin trip this weekend which is why I gotta tell Zoo I can't make it to no silly Bingo tourney. Skeet done already bought the bait and extra fishin line. Just left me with the beer and sandwiches. Now what kinda sandwiches we ate last time? Was it Spam..? Or maybe liverwurst. Hell, if I know. I just bring bologna and mustard this time.

Finally, that Mrs. Thick Hamhocks done finally got all her tickets. I hope she don't win nothing. Always flaunting her money in front of everyone's noses. With all them fancy jewels she be wearin to church ever'eh Sunday and them big toes stuck in her shiney Mizrahi heels. Only reason I know its Mizrahi cause Chaleene done told me. Dat just aint somethin an ol' black man should know.

"Hi, Mr. Sam. What can I get for ya today?"

I squint my eyes cause I can't barely see the names on the tickets but my blood sho is bubbling to start scratchin something good. I better buy some extra so I can scratch on the boat this weekend when I go fishin.