I’m swapping favorite waitresses at my breakfast diner. Yes, I am a cruel man. But the chatty lady who seemed nicer at first is unable to remember my order. A coffee with 1 sugar and a maple pecan danish. The one so-fort known as “The Favorite”, starts prepping my stuff as the queue in front of me gazes at the display unable to chose. By the time I reach her, I roll a coin and I’m good to go. Life is hard. I’m sorry, ex-favorite.

He is a monument of authority, reflowing the currents to untangle the mess. When needed, he will single handedly stop cars. He wears layers of tough clothing lined with a Batman belt. He blows his whistle: a series of loud short sharp tones. He is unlike the others. The ones by the side of the road. Their uninspired hands wave to imitate the rhythm of the traffic lights. I take it they’re young. They wait for something better. They’re the ones you ask Was it warm? when you pissed againt their legg.

Short months are cool. More salary per day.