Here I am again. At the pub.
Drunk. Jobless. Loveless.
The perfect predicament...to kill yourself.
I thought I was safe at work, so I had a nap, then I had a pint.
While drinking, the boss came by and said I'm finished.
To be honest, he kinda had a point.
I was supposed to drill a few holes, and while the first two were fine, the next two were all over the place. It'll take them a few days to seal my mistake and put things in motion for whatever they're building.
I wasn't that upset, either. Losing a job that you hate, but brings you a decent sum should be something that brings you to your knees and apologize to the man. Not me, though. I was chill. Even sprayed him in the face with my deodorant. The bastard.
Figured I'd come in a salsa bar next. Except I don't know the dance. Girls were looking at me as I jumped looking a lunatic on crack trying to dance house or d&b; more like dumbass.
And now it's late.
I've since left that salsa joint and stepped foot in this shabby crib where everything smells and looks cheap.
First, a step to the restroom.