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Show 99 Pleeze Lend a Hand! Put You're LITTER in the Can! Well I'm not the squeamish type but seeing that mouse with its flattened head was enough for me, so I got up off my ass and out of the lunch hall. I went to the Coke machine and got another Sprite and headed back out to the presses even though there was five or ten minutes of the supper break left. Every muscle in my body was tight and I'm getting out four aspirin when that bastard supervisor comes over, wants to know what kind of pills I'm taking, like it's some goddamn business of his. "How come there aren't any Dixie cups in the John?" I say. "You got a bad heart or what?" he says. I got a heart that's shrinking, that's what, getting smaller and tighter and harder every day so that I'm worried it might just give up. "It isn't asking for much, paper cups," I say. "Asthma, you got asthma?" I can't breathe but that's not the reason why. I can't breathe because the air in here is hot and thick like chicken soup and the air at home is no better, full of I'm sorry's and forgive me's, and I tell you I'm drowning in the air I breath. "Cups, for chrissake, how about some paper cups." "Poor circulation, hemorroids, hernia, insomnia, fatigue, |
