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air shift tomorrow. Another change:
I’ve been promoted. Still
working weekends, and assorted
holidays, when the so-called
stars would rather sleep in.
But no more late nights. I’ve
moved to the six to eleven a.m. slot.
Yeah, it’s a little more money.
But it also means I have to be
up at five a.m. to get to the station
on time, wide-awake and
prepared to help listeners
“Start your day, the X way.”
I entertain myself for a while,
watching other people’s various
stages of inebriation and half
listening to the argument
in my head—the smart side
of my brain saying, “Leave
the damn bowl alone,” while
the dimwit half asks, “What harm
could three little pills do?”
To pharm or not to pharm? Ah,
what the hell? I close my eyes,
reach into the capsule stew,
grab three anonymous pills.
But before I can pop them into
my mouth, my cell buzzes.
Nikki texts: Can u pick me up?
Car won’t start. Dead batt.
