It's been a slow day at work, though not without the excitement of moldy lemons and the large man at table 31 who quite clearly farted throughout his entire meal, and I appreciate you being on a corner visible from the windows of Applebee's. For one thing, your puppies were really fucking cute. Man, I love puppies. Even when they are chewing on the cords to important lamps, or chewing the crotch out of all my semi-expensive underwear, or pooing freely on whatever surface they deem fit, puppies are pretty cute. And they smell delightful, and they fall asleep in the middle of fighting with each other. So thanks for being in plain sight with your four spaniel puppies, because it allowed me to remember fondly puppies I have known (or know):
I'm tired, I sat out on a porch last night and talk-smoked through far too many Parliments, I have the next three days off, I haven't written a poem in weeks and that feels okay, I think tonight I would like to have a big fat American night. Maybe eat a burger at a chain restaurant and watch a movie playing at the mall. I serve Americans.
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