Chilled to the Bone

Jesus, I don’t want to. Someone else can fucking sweep; why me? It’s like I’m a fucking doormat, I swear. I seriously hope the heat gets turned on tomorrow. Or someone replaces me tonight, maybe I can coax Angel, or Peter. I can go home and — fuck, I hope he’s home. If he’s out, he’ll be stressed and — he never texted me back did he? That’s okay. It’s fine. Mona said he just needed time. Yeah, time. Time I spend at work. I haven’t felt warm since the fucking sun’s been out — and, now it’s all clouds. Victor would say “You’re such a cat, always looking for sunshine rays.”

At least he’s not here, telling me I should’ve waited till next week, taken the week off and focused on the damn assignment, focused on school. He’ll be okay, though. “Just taking some time.” Probably miserable as hell and totally denying it, but it’s fine. It’s cool. It’s not like texting him will solve it. If he’s home, he’s probably listening to music and cooking. Fuck, I’m so hungry. I hope he makes something warm. Something soup-y.


Jesus, watch it! I’m sweeping for Christ’s sake. I know you’re holding fucking boxes of food but if you weren’t wearing headphones, or I dunno, yelled “Comin’ through!” I’d have seen you, you imp.
Where the fuck’s my pile at? I hope you didn’t fuck it up. Well, I guess the longer sweep the less time I’ll have to spend serving customers. “This meat too well done, do you think I could get another sandwich?” No, you can’t. “This isn’t what I wanted” Well, you pointed instead of telling me, so my bad, “This isn’t warm enough” I burned myself on the pan, you asshole, eat it. “Why is there tax on bread?” I have to count the fucking change without a cash, alright. Relax, sit your ass down and wait for your sandwich.

I should’ve brought an extra pair of socks. But at least it’s warm at home. I’ll have a nice tea and keep Victor company while he does his work. Maybe I’ll eat – maybe sleep on the couch so he can have his privacy. I don’t know, man. How should I handle his stress? His stress is stressing me. Mona said – yeah, yeah I know – I can’t fucking help much but it would be damn nice. I hate being a fucking rat, doormat, whatever, tip-toeing around his stress, worrying about him. If he’d tell me a bit more maybe that could – no, no you have to give him time. And space, if he needs, yeah. It’s perfectly human. He knows that. You know that.


This is the shittiest fucking broom. Doesn’t get the small crumbs. Maybe it’s advocating for the fucking ants and rats.

If someone else fucking runs through my pile one more time I’ll have a cow. Squat right here and have a fit. Like those fucking children who’re making their parents crazy — touching everything and bickering loudly — impatiently ordering as if I can make the food come any faster. Just get your kid under control if it’s that embarrassing — even though it’s not like anyone actually cares.

I just want a smoke, some time with Victor and a fucking tea. Something warm and cozy and shit; not all these strangers and stray co-workers. At least Allan hasn’t busted my ass because I’m “Still sweeping! What the hell, man?” And Victor hasn’t said “What about that assignment?” for a little while now — probably because he’s so miserable. Fuck I wish I could just hug him and force him on the couch with like fifty blankets and a tea and Ripley.  

Ripley’s probably sleeping happily in his corner at home. It’s so cute when he curls up so tightly taking as little room as possible, a warm ball of fluff.

If Victor knew what he was stressed about, if he knew he could go for a walk and let it all out in one steamy breath. He’d be fine. Oh, shut up, get over it, he’s busy with his own thoughts. He probably — stop assuming — maybe he thinks — I’m so out of it, so clingy or — whatever. Dude, that’s ridiculous. Stop worrying about him. Christ; this isn’t good for you.


I’m gonna go check on Angel, maybe she needs help. Fuck sweeping. Let the ants have a party. Customers need their “fresher than fresh” sandwich and Ansel probably needs help. Victor’s at home where he needs to be. I’ll be out of here in no time if I keep with Ansel and Angel. They’re probably desperate for interactions that don’t include “What can I get you?” and “That’ll be…” and “Here you go, sir.”


a message in a bottle shattering a concrete reservoir

if i wasn’t clumsy with my words

if they didn’t tumble out of my mouth,

forced out after constant; constant rehearsal

constant repetition


if you weren’t the opposite

if you could tell me things

without the need of the dark

without pretending there was a chance

i didn’t hear you    

if you could tell me things

that didn’t tumble out of your mouth rushed

would we be any different?


i can never manage

much more than a mumble; a whisper

my words get stuck on the way out     

and you’re left there wondering

what that was all about        


i stifle my thoughts      

like a message in a bottle thrown at sea

and yours tidal down like water  

shattering a concrete reservoir         

as much as you can guess my thoughts

as much as yours are a surprise to me

it doesn’t change that in its chaos

we understand each other

loud and clear


so when the time comes, you have said your words

and finally i have said mine

in slow and in fast, we will unite as one

You think, but you don’t know

Many thoughts cross your mind

You think you two are close

You think you fancy him

You think you know him

You think he’s comfortable around you


You had no clue

You realize

later, much later

You realize, too late

Too bad that you were wrong

so wrong


My dear, you had no clue

how wrong you could be just this once

I’m sorry my love

You must see

You must think back

think, my love


He didn’t have any of it

Not  the heart

the care, or the mind

He was closed, dark

Yes, it’s true he was kind

but only at times, as there were many

many times where he was dull and empty

He wasn’t who you wanted him to be

He didn’t need to be, you knew, but he wasn’t anything

How much you wanted him to be, though


You tried, my love

and yes, I know, that drove him away too

but don’t be blue

My love, be angry, be changed


Just know one thing, dear

it’s okay to feel that way again

It’s someone new

someone cautious like you

You’ll see, dear,

It’s best to try again