Stand There And Sell These
Under the highway we will sleep, stand there and sell these honey buns for me. The car is in the shop, my turf toe won’t let me go home. The driver drove far to see if I could make it far but my car held me back. The motherfucking muffler is a hustler, it keeps silent and kills silent. In my dreams, the gasoline machine was no issue. I made it there, outside the stadium with uranium in my throwing arm. Went from being worth a veal parm to a farm within a couple of practices. It was only a dream, it didn’t happen. What happened was I was dreaming while driving with a broken muffler, got darn carbon monoxide poisoning had me whistling for help when I got scalped by the windshield. Might be worse than driving drunk because sometimes I dream about getting in a car crash. Under the highway, trying to make my way back home. In uniform, I got on onlookers torn on whether i’m trustworthy or not. The working men understand me and my friend, they’ll never bend to a second thought. They see the pinstripe uniform and understand that it is the cousin of the hickory stripe work shirt. These honey buns is fresh from the store down the curb, it is as warm inside the store just as it is outside. They got them for a quarter each, that is a feast for the salesmen in me. A dollar each on the street, seventy five cents for me for the labor and convenience. I could steal them but I left the longsleeve in the car in the shop and no thief could steal a sleeve with no sleeve. In pinstripe uniform, I’m doing alright with no harm. I am a bit more cleaned up than the people who come around here often. I could say this is for a fundraiser and it would get by despite it being for a fundraiser that never was. I’m not coming back if we make enough to get the car fixed. Even if I shit the tryouts, i’ll stay near by. I’ll sweep outside the stadium and make sure not one sunflower seed shell is left behind. I got to earn my pinstripes, i’m no future hall of famer that is deflecting from Cuba. They’ll know my name and jersey number, the bullpen has to have bullpens. It could be an Andes mountain situation again and i’ll be waiting. I’m not hoping for it to happen but I’m still gonna be waiting regardless, not a monster. I’m not going to the career center again with those monsters. They know me by name and they try to buddy up to me, nothing friendly about trying to get a career started. It’s a kennel for dogs in there, basically scouting the people who are going to take your job before you can ask for it. They didn’t let me wear my cap in there, my Hank Aaron Braves hat. When I make it to spring training, i’ll show them. Just need to sell a couple more honey buns, me and my driver take turns standing at the post like a couple of SS officers. The career center doesn’t like it when I says that but it doesn’t take a jester to figure out that we would be no fit for that duty, we would be better off in the fallen mexican tankers off the coast of the latin americas. “Stand there and sell these honey buns for me” I tell my driver, I mean it not to sound like i’m the pimp but we would be the flying dutchman of highway honey bun selling scene without any motivation.