Cut Up A Rug
Music to my ears is when the cashier gives me back the change that i’m owed, can’t leave till I get it. Rigor mortis sets until I get it, cold like war but not to the core yet. I’ll check my watch a couple times if they take too long to cash my check at the grocery store. If these scratch off tickets hit, today the fridge will be refreshed. Canned goods on the stove top were in the cards for me, nothing fresh or free. Cheer up, it’s the day that you got paid for your services and you should be proud of it. At my roommate’s house, specifically in the room meant for living. There is this ole radio that hasn’t been turned on since last hurricane season; the natural disaster and not the football team. I ain’t seen my roommate turn on this box to cut up a rug. I’ve seen him cut up an actual rug, he works in remodeling houses. Stiff as sticks, I turn on the radio and I cut up a rug like a KGB agent with a knife in his shoe. Well, I tried to but the motherfucker needed batteries. Society has forwarded past the need for AAA batteries on most things, only me and the people making meth are out searching for them. I don’t wanna make an ass of myself and go back to the grocery store to fetch them. I got the body language of a person who is going to steal something, coming back would look like i’m going for seconds. There is only a couple of places where music being played is not just meant for filler. The shit they play at Bestbuy is just some filler shit, something to make it feel like home when handing over your saving but you of course can’t over stay. One of the geeks would bring out the livestock electric prod after touching the glass on the locked items after a while. The bowling alley ain’t too bad of a place to cut up a rug, just have to be strategic with it. Can’t do that shit in the arcade area, kids may be in there, Can’t do that shit when there is a lot of people either, they might think you had too many plastic cups of beer. You also don’t get to choose what songs get to play, come down to bowl in your finest blacks just for the tunes be something from the early two thousands. I reckon there is only on place to go and that is home, where we didn’t leave in the first place. It would have been annoying if I would have left, just to come back after thinking. There’s people who do that, that’s a mission failed in my book. You just left the trenches and walked past the frontlines to think about it in the middle of the battlefield, wasted MRE if you ask me. The car that I drive was left on the driveway, I think it’s time to put it in the garage. Turn the radio in the garage of my roommate’s home when i’m alone, where I can choose the songs. Stiff as sticks, I cut up a rug like a KGB agent with a knife in his shoe. Only issue was that the carbon monoxide was kicking my ass by the tail end of the song. Good thing my roommate remembered where he resides; in my finest blacks I almost died.