Sam was in his glory, as the woman behind the counter, gave him a bag of day old muffins and doughnuts. She also filled his thermos with fresh brewed coffee.
Sam is homeless, and has no job. He forages in the dumpsters for returnable cans and bottles, which keeps him busy.
Now he is thankful for people like the woman that works at the local bakery. Sam sees the best the best in people, and that’s a good thing.
Walking down the street, there was a sign in the window, Opening Soon! A different kind of restaurant. The name: Bring Your Own Food And Drinks Restaurant. We prepare and cook it. No waiters, waitresses and bus boys. Plus, the patrons wash the plates, cutlery, etc. Cost of doing business, is negotiable.
The future of dining, has finally arrived.
Using the feather duster to sweep the floors. It’s going to be a while.
Fancy Fran and Dandy Dan met at a friend’s house. With in minutes, they fell in love. They immediately left for the airport, eloped, and took the first flight to Las Vegas, where they went to a chapel, and tied the knot. A quicky marriage that lasted one day. He went to the court house the very next day, was granted a divorce. When he awoke, he realized it was all a dream.
Not a good day, to deal with the village idiot. He is really, really out to lunch.
He spouts off so much bullshit, he has a shovel and bucket, to clean up his crap.
Flapping her lips. Not making sense.
Made a fresh pot of coffee, and she never showed up.
He never does what the play book says to do. Just wings it, and hopes for the best out come.
Early in the evening, people of all walks of life, are giving the female dancer, thumbs up and clapping, while she does her routine, on a busy midtown street. She is thrilled that everybody appreciates what she does.
He’s happy. She’s smiling. All’s good.
He’s a firm believer, of tin foil hat conspiracies.
Riding the express train of thoughts.
Eyes like daggers, panties wadded up in a knot, he knows not to say a word.
As she was heading to the door, she hollered out “never again, never again, you ruthless shit bag.”
The compass is pointing him straight to the gates of hell.
Making a long story short. Done.
Walking onto a pile of shit.
Tick tock. Bing Bong. Wake up.
The wise man is uttering nonsense.
He’s a person with no morals.
Blustery winds doing a number with her freshly styled hair. It makes her like she was ready for a casting call, for a horror movie.
Her down time is spending 15 minutes a day, sitting naked on a large block of ice.
He said right.
She say write.
Fiddlin’ and diddlin’, all morning long.
Come one, come all. Come as you are, to the annual funny freak parade.
Done in a day’s time. Yup!
Lose the attitude. It’s truly demeaning.
Flies swimming in bowl of soup.
He’s known as the orange menace.
Riding the train to crazy ville.
Running through the maze called life.
She’s humming the rainy day blues.
Wondering, rendering gut-wrenching thoughts, is doing a number on his psyche.
The streets have an eerie feeling.
Orange man doesn’t save the day.
A dyed-in-the-wool jackass.
He’s known as the number one, incorrigible asshole.
Sleep walking in a mid-town, trash filled alley.
The unicyclist, loves to entertain the folks while playing the fiddle.
All aboard the train of thoughts.
Without you the days seem to be meaningless.
When he speaks, he can put a fruit fly to sleep.
He’s a loose cannon, extraordinaire. Yup!
He plays solitaire with a deck of 51 cards.
Speaking the truth is beneath him.
Opening the door to the unknown.
His boat is slowly taking on water. The crew are disobeying orders and jumping ship, one member at a time.
His train of thought has gone off the rails.
His brain is in sleep mode.
He’s known to be the worst of the worst, for making bad decisions.
Now boarding, the ship of fools.
Now that his ego got the best of him, he wonders what his friends will think.
The members of the local chapter of the rainy days blues fan club, is now in session.
He is oblivious to his surroundings.
Skeletons can be found in his closet.
He can never tell a lie with a straight face.
She sleeps soundly on a mattress filled with stiff straw.
He’s a nonstop babbling brook of misinformation.
Smoke filled room
with cigarette butts
and remnants of Chinese
The life of a down
and out bachelor.
She’s lying naked on the grass, staring at the puffy clouds and pondering, what if …
What can one say, about the guy who is known to have shit for brains.
For no reason, she is all grins and giggles.
Having an enlightening conversation with a clothing store mannequin.
Throughout the city, the blanket of dense fog, has that eerie feeling.
The well known eccentric man of means, takes his battery operated toy poodle for a walk. When asked he walks a toy dog he replies, the dog needs to do its daily constitution. He tells people, that he is sick and tired of waking up in the morning, to see a puddle of pee, and a mound of shit on the floor. He never did say what he supposedly feeds the so-called dog, besides new batteries.
The planets are on a collision course of mass destruction.
He’s prone to having delusional thoughts.
Mr. Idea Man is down in the dumps, because he cannot think of any new ideas. He’s hoping it is only a temporary lapse, as people of all walks of life, come to hear him. If he doesn’t, he may have to look for another line of work.
She dreads writing her final paper.
He is so full of shit, there’s absolutely no room for toilet paper.
The local potty mouth club, is now meeting in the town park, with coffee and donuts, for their weekly gabfest of gutter talk.
He said, “Oh shit.” She told him to watch his mouth. So for the rest of the day, he looked into the hand held mirror, never to put it down.
He’s known as the bloviating airhead.
He uses a fork to eat potato chips.
He’s known as the man with the dead pan voice of ribald humor.
He’s known as the village’s number one neat freak.
Thinking logically is not his calling.
He is the master of manipulation.
By day, he lives the life of a monk. In the evening, a con artist, is his vocation.
A night owl on the prowl.
The young couple, love dancing in the rain.
Gusty winds sweeping, across the plains of desolation.
A big glob of bird shit landed squarely on the top of the old man’s head. Not a great way to ruin an otherwise great day that he was enjoying, with his friends.
The aroma of beef stew, is intoxicating,
Joel would do anything, to see his long, lost love. He would walk bare foot on hot coals, a bed of nails or a flooded street. She meant so much to him, but he could not understand why she refused to see him. He would give it one more try and talk to her and if she still would not give him a satisfactory answer, as to why she ended it, then he would just go back home, and sit in his favorite chair, and stare at the four walls, to ponder, what if, and there were many what ifs.
She has the flair for like minded people.
He’s known as the man with the ogling eyes.
He tells a story, using flashcards.
The usher wore a speedo and flip-flops, while seating the guests, at his best friend’s wedding. It did not go well, for most of the people made sure to keep some distance from him.
On almost any given night, the insomniacs congregate at the mid-town diner, with cups of coffee to discuss the different reasons, of the whys they cannot sleep.
Preaching to the choir for harmony.
The green look on his face says, he had something to eat, that certainly did not agree with him. Hello bathroom.
The jury’s back. Not looking good.
Moaning and groaning is his calling.
After watching the hamster wheel for who knows how long, it made her drowsy. A few minutes later, she fell asleep, face down on a plate of scrambled eggs, loaded with ketchup.
He and she, will never see eye to eye, and it will always be like that.
She slept with the devil incarnate.
A nightmare on 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.