Early In The Morning

Man, I’m sick. I’m sick and I’ve got to stand in that concrete dungeon and make things and have the floor suck the life right out of me through the soles of my feet. Someone’s sitting on my chest, and they’ve never heard of the salad bar, either. I need something.

I can’t take any medicine or I’ll cut my hand off and die, and that’s worse than being sick, after all. Nothing works anyway until the crocuses come.

I need Louis Jordan. I need someone serious as a heart attack about being silly.

There, that’s better.