Why aren't I already on a plane headed somewhere so sleazy that I would be considered a longtime local? I can't make it to the airport.
Beemer? Shop. Taxis, Uber, etc? Banned from (seriously). So what am I rollin' around on these days? The wagon.
Crappy wooden "wheels" which aren't even all the same size, or shape for that matter. No suspension for the small mountains we call "speed bumps" in Texas. No power steering. No air conditioning. No internet. No cushioned seating for my hemorrhoid that I named Quincy. No sunroof, or roof period. Horses stink and walk too slowly. Rusted nails protruding from nonsensical places that none had any business being there in the first place. Random stains on the wooden "floor", some of which I may be responsible for. A naggy cunt who never shuts the fuck up who sucks, no, not in the good way.
Forgot my cowboy hat. Carelessly wore black jeans because male fashion has been all the rage since Die Hard hit the theatres in 1988. My tacky pinky ring fools nobody during the daytime, which lasts around 22 hours this time of year. The blind guy riding shotgun up front thankfully has one because we keep making unexpected stops at shady gas stations in spie of my desperate cravings for malt liquor. Kids around those illegal bodegas shout insults about my ancestors in three different languages while I quietly just sit there in regret.
Chow time, if you could call it that. What little mystery meat in our daily muck may in fact be parts of the last health inspector. Despite being scooped out of a boiling cauldron, it's somehow cold by the time I talk the naggy bitch to hold my nose while I plop the slop on the piece of wood that's obviously older than my grandmother, who died at the gracious age of 94 - about a decade ago. Was it a spoon, or a piece of the old wheel that finally gave out in defeat? I hope the airplane is in better shape, but airlines are closing in bankruptcy every other month - no peanuts for sure...
SSS
- Wagons still exist in Texas.