Saturday, March 19, 2005

Lumber, lumber, lumber, glide


There are two guys at work who are brothers. I have never said one word to either of them. They hate me.

I think they both played football because they have the look of ex-football players. They are both tall and the lean muscle of youth has decayed into fat causing them to lumber about, sneering at the little people.

When I walk past them, they will not move out of the way. Always I have to move or I'll be knocked to the ground. When they think I'm not looking they make goofy faces at me. It's funny, really. The only thing they haven't done is come up to me and pretend to pull a comb out of their pocket while pretending to hit me in a swift...comb-pull-type action.

Omaha lumbers. It is a town of the lumbering mass. When people see me they say I glide. I'm a glider in a lumbering town. I think that's why they hate me because I glide on by.

It could also be that I fucked their mom. It was a slumbering night, a lumbering night, a night of rap on MTV and not a tissue in my house. She called and she begged, I broke down and legged over there. I left her a fiver on the nightstand then foolishly asked for change. A fiver was all I had, I had nothing smaller, you see.

I think it was the asking for change that makes them hate me. I've learned my lesson. When I go back to their mom's house I will bring ones and quarters. And dimes. And...pennies. But not nickels, I don't like the lumbering nickels.