As I reminisce
of my old miserable
dead end job
experience
I can say there were
certain instances
that weren’t so bad
Like the coffee shop
girl next door
to the establishment
that fucked me for me
and that was including
my satirical job title
It was short lived
like the ownership
at my place of
employment
Not like it stopped
us from fucking
in the bathroom
She came in the
shop one day
to throw herself
at an undesirable
co-worker who
recently became
the new owner
She was enamored
of his money
Knowing him when
he was like me
just another slave
she showed no interest
In fact, when we went
out to eat I had her
pay the balance
She spread her legs
in all sincerity
It wasn’t on a false
pretense like money
I never had or wouldn’t
sell my soul to acquire
It was the best pussy
money couldn’t buy
I flattered her with my
charming personality
Not the lack of funds
in my misfits wallet
Sometimes job titles
mean everything
Other times they can
often be deceiving
