God help the fortune tellers

the customer service is so sweet it's a bit saccharine.
a local lady with the appearance of some mental issues, jokes with, talks to, and berates her young daughter and teenage son...whilst twirling her
stringy hair....

a ringless mother chases her baby tank boy around from time to time...
only to come back to her waffle fries...

i just read an article that reminds me that some of the labor privileges
i enjoy came as a result of the hunger, sweat, sacrifice, and death of others
who had the sac to stand up for what was right and equitable.

i see a small sea of blonde moms feed their kids and talk amongst themselves,

i see a 30-something mom with a centerfold figure and sun-weathered skin walking with her chubby daughter and i wonder how she treats her...i wonder only...i'm no fortune teller...i don't want to be anymore.

no song, gospel or otherwise comes to mind. iggy pop's 1969 was on my stereo before i stepped out of my car, but it will far from suffice went it comes to salving the soul.

teenage girls talk in the parking lot and a few of them smoke....they've got that awkward smoking appearance...give it enough time and they'll be pros.

the sweet sales lady in the shoe store is trapped by the rotund man's sharing....you see he's got a chronic problem with ingrown toe nails from all of his years in the service? i know about ingrown toe nails...i've had 3 surgeries on my big toes...i wear shoes with plenty of toe room and open toed sandals as much as possible...i've never served in the armed forces.

i drive back to my office and there is a small reptile turd on the flip flops that i keep there...a dark and almost dried out lizard makes his scurry. i find him and set him outside. i hope he doesn't die...i often find them when they're getting nice and dehydrated. they must like the crumbs from my snacks?

in just a moment i will internally grab myself by the nape of the neck and make myself walk to another property so i can make sure their bathrooms are not doo-doo-ey and that the smell of onion doesn't waft through their workspace because somebody decided to pick them out of the sammich they ordered only to toss them in their office bucket.

in another moment i may daydream about my packing list, be distracted by the spring weather and wait till it's almost too late to fix a lock i'm supposed to work on...oh, but now i'm fortune telling aren't i?