They want to know if my “soul”
Is in good working order
And then I saunter into the grocery store
To have some random dude lunge at me
In sweat pants
Him looking like
Somebody who hadn’t been allowed into
Sixth grade gym class
And I weave past countless spiteful faces
Who stand there watching me
Trying to get me to glance at them for a nanosecond
And I observe girls in yoga pants
Trying my best to treat them like Nobel Prize chemists and
Wait behind fat dude walking like a bit**
Into Dollar General looking at his phone
With his kid and
I think of the girl in the bar and
Don’t really care about my soul anyway
Truth be told