Tuesday, December 13, 2005
I can go where no one else can go . . .
Hell is waiting on line at the Subway sandwich stand, in the Palisades Center Mall. It is located just west of Pamela Anderson’s designer clothing store (the one with the mannequins with colossal tits.)
The mumbling man behind the glass is taking two customer’s orders while one furious patron drags him over the coals for putting lettuce on her cheese steak. “Were you listening to my order?”
“Yes, Cheese Steak?” he replies sheepishly.
“ Right.”
“So, you want lettuce?”
“Did you hear what ordered!”
Sweat begins to form beads upon my forehead; why did I forget to bring lunch to work?
“You want tomatoes?”
“No, no I don’t!”
Through the muffled speaker system, the opening chords to Runaway Train by Soul Asylum were just barely audible. At first I thought to myself “awesome, I haven’t heard this in about ten motherfuckin’ years!” I began to strain my ears to hear the song over the noise of the Subway/TCBY/Dunkin’ Donuts. The song started skipping. Fuck.
“Runa..ain on a one…ack” No one in the joint notices that the music is all fucked.
Just as I am about cram my index finger through my ear canal into grey matter, I stop and notice three television monitors in the window of the neighboring store. A man who looks like Dolph Lundgren is speaking in a frenzied passionate manner. Spit is flying everywhere, the screen cuts to a shot of a skinny man posing, showing off his “muscular” physique. Cut Back to “Dolph” yelling an inaudible sermon, and back to a close up of “Muscles” eyes rolled back shaking his head franticly. “Bought a tick..fr,,unawy train, like a mad man laug..n at the rain.”
It seems no one can help me now, I am in too deep and there is no way out. This time I have really let myself run astray. Somehow, I am neither here nor there.
The mumbling man behind the glass is taking two customer’s orders while one furious patron drags him over the coals for putting lettuce on her cheese steak. “Were you listening to my order?”
“Yes, Cheese Steak?” he replies sheepishly.
“ Right.”
“So, you want lettuce?”
“Did you hear what ordered!”
Sweat begins to form beads upon my forehead; why did I forget to bring lunch to work?
“You want tomatoes?”
“No, no I don’t!”
Through the muffled speaker system, the opening chords to Runaway Train by Soul Asylum were just barely audible. At first I thought to myself “awesome, I haven’t heard this in about ten motherfuckin’ years!” I began to strain my ears to hear the song over the noise of the Subway/TCBY/Dunkin’ Donuts. The song started skipping. Fuck.
“Runa..ain on a one…ack” No one in the joint notices that the music is all fucked.
Just as I am about cram my index finger through my ear canal into grey matter, I stop and notice three television monitors in the window of the neighboring store. A man who looks like Dolph Lundgren is speaking in a frenzied passionate manner. Spit is flying everywhere, the screen cuts to a shot of a skinny man posing, showing off his “muscular” physique. Cut Back to “Dolph” yelling an inaudible sermon, and back to a close up of “Muscles” eyes rolled back shaking his head franticly. “Bought a tick..fr,,unawy train, like a mad man laug..n at the rain.”
It seems no one can help me now, I am in too deep and there is no way out. This time I have really let myself run astray. Somehow, I am neither here nor there.
# posted by John E. Hickey III : 2:21 PM
