, , , , , ,

He takes my trash and dumps it. He’s got that snaggletooth lingering out of his mouth while he tries to engage me in conversation. It’s difficult to focus on anything other than the fact that he’s got a yellow-stained tooth that is literally about to cut me. I want him to leave, now, like 10 minutes ago. He doesn’t. He’s nice and that’s the goddamn problem. And, he’s rubbed off on me. So, I just take a “break” from work while he blabs on about his girlfriend packing him this “gigantic” salad and how it’s like she’s trying to make him fat. Don’t worry, he pats his stomach for me like I don’t see he’s pregnant. He throws his head back and cackles nice and loud. I’m possessed with laughter and tell him thanks and to have a good day. He nods and then mumbles how he has to get to the 5th floor soon or else.

I start typing again, stop, and realize he’s become my muse.