the feels.

mmmmmmmmmmmm.
it's just that they're SO damned good, y'feel me?
what?
the falafels, OBviously.
my duders from maine make a mean mini-fritter sandwich...
and that babaganoush?
those jauns are off the charts.
i mean it,
they go to eleven, with ease,
and they go into my big, ol', dumb, hungry face even easier.
i still don't need to stare at horses' asses at eyeball height,
i mean,
i've got a mirror at home already, kids.
ha.
so,
the stables and pens aren't what's up at all,
but we're reppin' a quick circuit for dinner, every night, until it's over.
this is how i take it easy, neighbors.
yup.
by taking it to the streets of the fairground,
and gettin' hit with tahini to the dome each evening as a matter of course.
guys,
check the teleport:

falafels!!!
and one more, for the road:

yeah!!!!
another 'nother night of big action boomfire is on the schedule for tonight,
after another other 'nother day of tattoo turdtastical begrudgingly trudging drudgery.
i'm just sayin'-
on one hand,
(by which i mean my toothed and clawed red right hand of truth)
i'm pleased that i'll still take a whole day of walk-ins after all these years,
because i've stayed on a hard grind according to the tenets i ascribe to,
but, on that other hand,
(that blackened and double-crossed left one that seems to show up
on both wrists of my cohabitants at the workplace)
damn damn DAMN!
it gets to be pretty frustrating setting a stolid example
of how to accurately and expertly doo-doo what needs doing,
and have it perpetually ignored, in it's entirety, despite being loud, fresh, hard,
and directly an in from their flippin' faces,
by the whingeing wheezy F*-lickers who aren't about living by the
try HARD/pay attention/know STUFF trinity
that composes the symphonic superlativity of just-be-dopeness.
nope.
i'm still doing what i truly believe is correct and proper, honest and fair,
true, real, direct, and determined,
and mutha-b!tches are STILL bouncing out at below the bare minimum.
that's just how it goes, i s'pose.
complaining about the movie-check factory isn't productive though, is it?
besides,
without the bitter, the sweet just ain't as sweet.
that's a thing.
and the sweetest swee'thang out there this week is clearly the fryeburg fair.
so,
i'm supersaturating my suppertimes with the syrupy sugar of rural maine magic,
and letting the ferris wheel and the smell of sausages and sh!ts seep into memory banks,
and build up interest by the nostrilful.
word up.
*
it's always a little tiny bit weird to see people i know at the fair,
and have that tacit agreement upon eye contact not to interact.
i see you, necktarded dude;
i see you, some light-jeans wearing girl;
i see you, sucka-A* poopsprinx with a giant turkey leg in your hand;
i see you, co-worker's old dad;
i see you, and i know you saw me.
i looked you dead in that eyeball-piece after all,
but,
i've got falafels to snack up on,
and fried dough with apples to munch after that.
i'll catch you on the flip, most likely,
when you aren't hugging a ten cent stuffed toy from the carnie side of the spot.
btw,
that's what poor people do.
enjoy yourself, but don't wave, and i'll keep my hands at my side, too;
never quiet, never soft.....