Sunday Afternoon

Why am I here? What did I come for again? Oh Yeah,
A moment later I was next in queue, handing a middle-aged asian man my credit card. He scanned my beer.

Wait. Add some Funyuns to that. I pull the chips from the stand.

OK. Deep Breath. Why'd I get so high? Was I still high?

"Nice Haircut."

Why's he saying that? It was the asian clerk. Broken English. Heavy Accent. Why did he mention my haircut? Does he recognize me?

"Oh, thanks," I mutter in response. He's swiping my card. I wanted to add that I'd just gotten it cut that day, but I couldn't get it out.

We waited. "I get lazy when it's nice like today..." the clerk told me. "Summer is over," he added ruefully. Fuck man. I was definitely high.

I had to add something in response. "Well, it's supposed to be nice all this week." The reality was it was fall, my words echoed in the cold air.

I stood nervously. I'd paid for my beer, but I was still waiting. I think the receipt was supposed to print out. I used my PIN, do I still get a receipt? If I just stand here and don't get a receipt, he'll know I'm high for sure.

Relax. It just printed a receipt. No worries man. Get back home.

Jay-walk for sure. Cut across the street. Down two blocks. Turn right, across from the park, you're there. Just get back home. You know the way, just do it.