I rise, a phoenix force, shuffling across the golf course grass in my business slacks. My job, barrier reef, getting paid to sit on my ass for the whole damn week. Six years is a lot of mass to overcome when you're counting beers.
My stress is a song; a legend sung to children of a tailgating man. His rage, so red hot, got him home from work in twenty minutes flat. Go on, take your shot. Try to swing around me while I pop my top. One thing, hit or miss, a paralegal's stress is carried in his fists.
The only things that change are those we can't deny. I'll take the fight to physics because science ruins lives.
Out of the future and into the past. The bubble jacket was too good to last. I remember the better times. I'm only guilty of petty crimes. I'm the sultan of cutting lines.
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