He’s exhausted, he just doesn’t know it. Trudging on, with wet feet he wears a groove into the same old places he goes every day. His cynicism distilled by pre-dawn alarm clocks, cold floors, sore joints and blistered hands; filtered through layers of work clothes he puts on in the dark as he kisses sleeping cheeks good-bye. His mug of black coffee sits in the cup holder as the defroster competes with the radio. His body driving on auto-pilot as he does the math in his head over what gets paid come payday.
Categories:
defroster, work,
Form: Prose
We christen thee Titanic
unsinkable, gigantic.
but lack of options cost her.
First one: a good defroster.
Categories:
defroster, funny, history, nostalgia, sea,
Form: Epigram