Last days at a shit job

They swarm like rats. Some are larger than others, some thin like crows and others fat like chickens. Their sleek black bodies and grainy pink feet are in direct contrast with the serene picture of swaying trees and sun-drenched pathways. The bums sit pristinely on these wrought iron benches, fanning themselves like so many southern belles. I overhear a conversation about a Xantax and liquor cocktail.

"Don't call the ambulance. If I pass out, do not call the ambulance… well, unless I have a seizure."

I put out my cigarette and say farewell to the debutantes.