wednesday

I got this dog on my lap. He's growling at ghost. There's no one outside of the car. He's just anxious, like me. I rolled up the window to shut him up. He just stares out the window. Glancing back at me occasionally. Comfortable in his tiny red and orange jacket, he watches cars drive by. Me, in my brick pattern, blackish sweatshirt. I'm here waiting for the clock to strike two. My hair shaggy because I didn't liberate yesterday away in the shower this morning. Not giving a fuck about the mom, the kids, the dad, the stepdad. The people who basically own my dignity. They wash away their grief in prayer. They bathe in holy water. They believe the world is theirs to shape alone. Me, not giving a fuck, I just want to get paid. This dog on my lap belongs to them. He doesn't pray, he doesn't want more than what he has. All he wants is to bark at people passing by, and maybe he'll be rewarded with his name being shouted out in efforts to quiet his warnings. I care more about this dog than I do this family. Cause he's not a bullshitter. He's not a liar. He doesn't flaunt his life around like a hooker displays her goods. I got this dog on my lap. He's trying real hard to sleep. I guess watching cars is more exhausting than I thought.