Things I write when left on hold for too long while I am listening to Joy Division
title: “steve the freelance detective who happens to be technically unemployed (not because he is lazy or unskilled, but because there was an unforeseen down turn in the tech industry and that shit could happen to anybody, motherfuckers, so don’t be judging.)”
he was just a guy, a simple guy,
who thought everyone can choose to make a stand.
he swung open his bedroom door,
scratching his ass through the hole below his boxers waistband.
he came face to face with an angry man
holding empty egg cartons by the dozens.
“i wanted frittatas, bitch. i have no brother!!!!””
which was actually technically true, cause these dudes were cousins.
freelance detectives often didn’t get respect,
or praise for courage during dark hours.
no one sees the careful planning, and time-management
or multitasked masturbation during showers.
and there was a girl, such a girl.
with skin like electric silk.
she was still growing out her bangs,
and got a little gassy from drinking milk.
he adored her because she was smart, sweet,
funny and she played the tuba.
and not, like most expected, because she had
a rack on which you could escape from cuba.
she did not support his freelance detecting ways,
and wanted him to spend more time on craigslist.
she felt that a new job should be his goal
and she didn’t really give a shit when things didn’t rhyme.
he poured over the crime section in the paper,
filling it with ink and the notes were copious.
these people needed his help,
and then they’d be less… mopeyish.
fine, technically this would be his first case,
and he expected it to be quite a thrill.
he was going to make the world a better place,
though he’d probably wait until after dr. phil.