29 10 2013
There’s fruit flies the size of bats in here. You smack the damn things with your palm and the fuckers just get back up, dust themselves off, straighten their wings out like you would a hat then buzz your ear just to say, “Eat shit, fuck face.”
They always get the last word, the last laugh and whatever else you left laying on your desk from lunch. They picked that ham sandwich up and carried it away. Then today you come in and there’s a thousand more of them.
They reproduce like that. First there’s only a few. Blink your eyes and they’ve overrun the joint.
Then you’ve gotta bomb the fucking place to make it yours again.
Well, the garbage hasn’t been emptied since June and the Mexican cleaning lady who’s actually from El Salvador — but you don’t pick up on the accent, it’s all Central America anyway, man, shit, and besides you’re paying straight cash so you didn’t have to weigh in on the whole immigration debate; its all bullshit — does as little as possible when she comes to clean. You have to watch her. She needs eyes on her else she won’t do a damn thing.