Sam woke up this morning thinking it was sunday. He walked down the street with his headphones on humming along. The sidewalk was being taken up by big steel machines on tracks and wheels. You would think he'd put the cig down after getting a disel toke. Without looking he crossed the busy street, almost murdered by some old lady driving an old oldsmobile. He didn't bother to look at the heart attack she almost had, but the packed gas station got on his nerves. "extra caffiene in my coffee" he mumbled to himself sipping the $1.89 cup of extra large goodness. The clerk said "credit or debit." "ummm.... credit," it's fucking credit all the time Sam thought. Right outside the stickered door, right in front of another old lady pumping gas into her old junker he sucks down another sip. Puff, step, puff ,step, this is his marching song. Drill sargent replaced by metal music, uniform traded for second hand clothes, and a back pack filled with all kinds of contraband. Key in lock, slam! Key in lock.Locked! Bit of bounce in his step from his caffiene dreams. Jacket off, ass in chair, confusion.
FUCK! It's monday!
