by Jason Alan

ashing in that stained coffee cup. still partially full from this morning. and sawing. through the day. throat sore. smoke burning the throat but i want more, one after the other i smoke them. waiting. waiting for the man to come again in his little red volkswagen. he will bring it and i will burn my throat again but not with cigarettes but with the beast. to feast on the beast who sleeps on foil but don’t put the fire too close it will boil and hold that straw. that straw. hold it in your mouth. ashing in that chipped coffee cup. that coffee cup that says six flags over texas on the side. yellowing the walls. the walls around me and the walls inside me with tar. where the fuck is that fucking guy i’ve already scraped the glass. i’ve scraped that glass did i scrape it all? dropping it in that old coffee cup and lighting another and checking the pipe yes it’s all scraped out and maybe i should get some new foil. yes that’s it maybe i should get some nice new foil while i’m waiting where the fuck is he? the pipe is scraped the weed is gone the beer is gone maybe some more caffeine it’s all that’s left nothing to eat except maybe some rice in the pantry maybe some rice. but that’s all. some mayo in the fridge. no yayo just mayo. coffee. that old, chipped, yellow stained coffee cup needs to be washed nothing is clean it’s all dirty where the fuck is he? ashing in that knock at the door it’s him. fuck. it’s the neighbor she knows he’s coming. she wants some too but she can’t have any it’s all mine.