On most mornings, the day begins with the image of my own death. Its an image that is far too serene, far too bloodless, and agonizingly colourless. I imagine that I don't really wake up - only an image of waking up - when I'm really still laying there concocting the rest of it in my wretched skull; constantly bored by the stillness of eternal slumber. That's how my day begins. It begins without oddness, without variance, without significance - just like how it ends.
This morning I woke up, hoping that I wouldn't. But I was still there, the same living breathing abomination that I've always been. I put something stench-free and went out for another day of not working to pass another day.
I sat behind the counter of the restaurant, awaiting the first soul brave enough to take on my saliva-pube burger. She walked in. She asked for it and I complied. I paid close attention to her gluttony. Her tits heaved with every chomp and never did a burger meeting its demise turn me on as much. Her left breast popped out to greet the virgin world and my yellowed lecherous gaze. She reset her breast and caught my voyeur eye. She flashed a glowing grin and egged me on. I said fuck it, meet me out back. She blew me beside the dumpster, happy ending, and back to monotony I went.
I sat behind the counter and saw him saunter in with an unconcealed sawed off. Robbing a fifth-rate fast food joint? Dude didn't think that through. Gimme all your cash, he said. I handed him 5 bucks. He said he wasn't fucking around. I tried to stiffle my laughter, but failed miserably. A purposeless rage burned in his eyes as he pulled the trigger - it backfired and blew a hole the size of a silicone Double-D through his head. Darwin would've been proud.
After the cops and company finished scouring the scene, I mopped up the miscellany the authorities didn't bother with. The chick with the titties walked back in. She told me she was in love with me. She wanted to have my babies and eternity and all that shit. I half-assed the mopjob and plowed her on the floor. She got up, brushed a piece of bloody grey matter from her skirt, and walked out. I went back to the mop.
I sat behind the counter and saw him walk in with a bat. He told me to stay away from his daughter. I shrugged. Sure, whatever you say, man. How about a burger? I offered it as a goodwill gesture. He smiled. Sure, he replied. I gave him the burger. He munched away, although it was no where near as pleasing of a sight as his daughter. After a final bite, he grabbed his chest and keeled over. I went back for the mop - the cops would be back again and they don't wipe their shoes.
More questions from 5-0, the ambulance swung by for another cadaver, and they left me to an empty store. She walked in again, giggling uncontrollably. Ding dong the dick is dead, she screeched. I looked down at my ragging hard on, shook my head, and replied in the negative. This time she was sprawled on the counter top as I plunged in. She clung on. She hung on, clinging to my apron as I tore into her. Don't leave me, she said. I silently went back to the mop and she left.
I sat behind the counter awaiting an order that wouldn't come and a car plowed into the store and wiped out the dining room. A bloodied motionless figure, unencumbered by seatbelt or rational faculties, was projected through the windshield onto the countertop. She came back. The clock read 9, my shift was over, and I headed to the bus stop.
I sat in bed, reading Rilke, when it struck me: I forgot to put the mop back. That always annoys my boss. I fell asleep to the stir of sweet sugarplum death fantasies spinning around in my head.
