Posts tagged ‘commute’
W-O-R-D up.
we’ve got a rogue helicopter pilot on the loose inside this airspace.
i got some x-box back in my room.
i’ve been working in this industry for about a year and a half since coming over. my cousin got me this job. he said it was going to be a lot of work. but they don’t ask no questions and i get ten an hour. i take things off the truck and deliver them. if i had to say i noticed one consistent thing about this city is how much cabbage we deliver. chinese restaurants. delis. bodegas. pizza joints. the movie theaters. the starbucks. the duane reade. the target. the zoo. everywhere. all we did for twelve hours straight was delivering cabbage from one place to another. you know boxes and boxes of cabbages. the amount just doesn’t make too much sense to me. maybe except for some of those people that eat pickled cabbage all the time, but that doesn’t equal out with the amount of cabbage we are delivering. my boss tells me we delivered about three million pounds of cabbage in the last six months. and that’s just here in manhattan. he said if gas were cheaper, we’d be delivering at least three times that easy.
you know you want what i got right here.
when i was younger, all my friends either wanted to be the next daryl strawberry or the next axl rose or the c.e.o. of disney. but me, i didn’t find any of that too appealing. i wanted to be a car and not just any car, but a full-size luxury sedan like a lincoln towncar. the thing that got me about the lincoln were the seats. it’s real leather in there made in the united states and not the kind of stuff they make the shoes out of at payless shoe source. real american leather makes a difference. i have thirteen lincoln towncars at home. i keep four in my garage, three in my backyard, three in the living room, and two in my kitchen. the ones in my house i don’t drive. i hire three guys from ecuador to rub the leather inside with cocoa butter every other day. every night before i go to sleep, i go inside one of my town cars and close my eyes and think of myself floating down fifth avenue, past the taxis and the stupid tourists and the buildings.
i don’t think growing up now is easier than before. i think the old people make it seem it was harder when they were our age. but they didn’t have as many choices as us. you know opportunities to fuck up in a real bad way, not just like getting yelled at by your neighbors kind of thing. we don’t have room to run around. and when you don’t have room to run around, you start running in your own shit and i think that makes a lot of us a little off. i remember in an early stage in my life where i believed that i was lion. i actually thought i was a lion with the mane and the big whiskers and the sharp teeth, and i walked around like i was the king. but there was this guy, Wulabi, i remember him saying to me, “you are not different than me, man.” i thought he was bullshit at first but then i stopped eating the food for a few days and found a really clean spot to lay in when they’re weren’t watching. and that point man, i realized i wasn’t outside, in the desert somewhere hunting gazelle and zebras and shit. i was inside a building on 3510 3rd avenue. all of us were there, just standing around, eating our own shit man for real and then later being led down a row of gates. and then we were separated one by one but i could smell everyone around me. i heard yelling and screaming. and then something came on my temples like a shot of lightening that just numbed everything into a myriad of involuntary movements.
they don’t make them like they used to.
when you leave the past behind and walk away, that’s when the cracks begin to show.
we fix what the adjustment bureau fucks up.
e v e r y d a y aperture 