Soul Searching
There's one CD that I've been dying to hear. I own it. I think I've had it for some years, too, but just haven't heard it in a very long time. It must be in this spindle. My fingertips are becoming raw as I speak; I've been flipping through these discs for so long now. It's in here somewhere. Or maybe it's here.
There's this thing that I have coming up, and I have this great new shirt that I can wear to it. I don't like to admit that I plan ahead like this, but there's no denying it: I want to look cool when I go there. The shirt seems to be misplaced though. It must be in my closet, but where the hell did I put it? It might be in my car. I've already overturned whole stacks of shirts, and I'm starting to tire of this.
I've been in the frozen foods section, looking for a certain type of pizza, and I'm past the point where I'll stick my whole arm in the freezer, flipping over the boxes that have already been busted open but still sit there, as if anyone would want to buy that shit. People have taken to bumping my ass -- for some reason -- with their fucking grocery carts, and these goddamn neon lights are eating away at my retinas. It's in here; it's most definitely in here. If only these fat bastards would stop distracting me long enough for me to find it.
There's this thing that I have coming up, and I have this great new shirt that I can wear to it. I don't like to admit that I plan ahead like this, but there's no denying it: I want to look cool when I go there. The shirt seems to be misplaced though. It must be in my closet, but where the hell did I put it? It might be in my car. I've already overturned whole stacks of shirts, and I'm starting to tire of this.
I've been in the frozen foods section, looking for a certain type of pizza, and I'm past the point where I'll stick my whole arm in the freezer, flipping over the boxes that have already been busted open but still sit there, as if anyone would want to buy that shit. People have taken to bumping my ass -- for some reason -- with their fucking grocery carts, and these goddamn neon lights are eating away at my retinas. It's in here; it's most definitely in here. If only these fat bastards would stop distracting me long enough for me to find it.
posted by fred burgess! at 10:16 AM
2 Comments:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblence to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Totinos rock the spot though and are well worth a dig into the freezer for.
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