So the promotion did not go through. Something about flies and vinegar and honey, but you know when you wake up after eleven winks because your girlfriend did not get home until seven in the morning because she passed out at her job and who the fuck are you the time keeper who controls the sun? and you get to ride your bike to the impound lot to pick up your car that you paid $917 U.S. dollars to get out of tow but you forgot your keys so you get to ride your bike home to see your sweet, sweet dove sleeping or at least in some state of unconsciousness and then ride your bike back to the impound lot and find out that they charged you for storage on each and every one of the days that they were closed and would not allow you pick up your car because, they were just hanging out with their malnourished, billy club-beaten pitbulls when you were there on Memorial day trying to pick the old ricketty auto up and you finally get to interact with the fem-spawns of dirty Hessians who are not suprised by your rancor and no matter how much you threaten action from your attorney and the mayor of New York City and the kidnapping of their first-born future food stamp collectors like you are some Rumpelstilskins, you know that you still are not going to get your Blue Book valued $300 U.S. dollar car back until you give the Hessian offspring another $90 U.S. dollars because they have heard all of this before from much more threatening people without James Dean haircuts and you are pretty sure that people could not possibly treat each other at all worse, or behave any more jejune, inane, narcissistic or just good old fashioned fucking stupidumb? If you had forgotten your means of creating fire in the 21st century and you wanted a cigarette because after you finally arrive to your job in the hallway after your 15 mile surprise morning bike ride and the thirteenth listening to Lazy Line Painter Jane just is somehow not quite getting you back into the real world and setting all straight as it generally can you would have to ask a stranger to put a flame onto the tip of your cigarette and then that stranger would see where you work because you just walked out of the building and he would want to be your buddy and he would, after asking if you worked in the building which he just saw you walk out of, inquire as to whether or not you could fulfill his dream of meeting Mick Jagger by the end of the summer before his internship is over and then you would tell him to meet the both of you for drinks at Applebee's at 6:30 and then you would go throw up around the corner while a middle school field trip on it's way to see the Wednesday matinee of the Lion King watches. You know? That was the best. Long live the bon vivants!
