Wearing an iron-on letter shirt that says SOUTH SIDE BABY MAKER to the Food Lion after work, with white Polo socks and orange and white sherbert Adidas slides, just to see if they got any more of that albacore tuna in the pouch on clearance for 55 cents a pouch. If they ain’t got none left, I’ll find something simple to buy so that I don’t walk in and out and feel like the surveillance gods put another mark against my good name, markdown chicken leg quarters if I’m lucky, but usually I’m not, so I’ll throw $10 into the lottery machine and poke some numbers out of it and dream about not being almost crushed by American life until I see I didn’t win, again.
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