Limo Driver

I’m such a fool. Why did I tell that guy all that stuff? He didn’t even ask me for Christ’s sake. Goddamn. Me going on and on like anyone cares. That guy definitely didn’t. I could see it in his face. He gave me that pitiful look like I’m going to stand here and listen to this asshole even though he’s bugging the shit out of me sort of thing. I see that face all the time.

I’m like the most normal guy I know. So what if I drove for Springsteen in April? So what? All I did was talk his ear off. And sure, we tossed back and forth shows we’ve seen through the years like Zeppelin in Philly in 1970, Sabbath at the Fillmore in when J. Geils opened. Shit like that. But this guy tonight doesn’t care about me or this stuff.

Who am I kidding? Why did I tell him I went to high school with some of the DeCavalcante family? It’s not like I’m connected to the mob or nothing. None of this matters. It’s all blah blah blah like that teacher on Charlie Brown. Blah blah blah. I’m like a fucking noise factory. I swear I make myself sick.

Sure, the guy seemed nice I guess. But he must have thought I was some kind of jerk. Jesus. What an idiot I am. A goddamned, mother-fucking idiot. I need to learn to just keep my hole closed and mind my own business. I mean for real, I exhaust myself. It’s no wonder I can’t hold down a job worth a damn. Shit, I wouldn’t want me around if that’s saying anything. And my wife. I can’t even imagine what she’s thinking being with me.

I got to get my shit together if I want to keep making the rent. Make sure my suit’s all ironed up and my hair’s all nice and respectable-like. I should probably stop with the drinks before work too. Maybe that’s what makes me all chatty? I need to just do my job and move on to the next client so I can do it all over again. Yeah, I should make some changes. Some big ones. Otherwise I’m totally screwed.

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