Dear Diary,
I just can't stand them shitheels. it damn near breaks my heart to see them comin' an' goin', payin' so easy and refusin' to accept the change, all the while poor old migratin' families can't even bring 'emselves to accept my and Al's charity. We got our usual income of shitheels today, buying our mos' expensive pies and payin' the juke box generously. We always seem to get that one family though, the one that I can barely seem to look at. Today it was a man, his wife, and their two lil' boys with 'em. The Man asks to use the hose, so i let him, keepin' an eye on him of course. As much sympathy as I feel, caution is often too wise in the middle of the desert. They finish honestly, o' course, then come in an' try to buy from me jus' a loaf of bread. I tells 'em it's fifteen cents for just the loaf, but he asks if i can cut down the bread to get him to ten. I'll admit I got a little hesitant – the bread truck's not gonna be comin' for a few days now – but Al near ordered me to give it to 'em. I get a little unsure about givin' things away nowadays. You can only do so much charity. I tell 'im, the man, that I can give the whole loaf to 'im for just ten. He refuses at first; how he can keep that pride about 'im while those two shitheels eat their desserts off in the corner I find remarkable. I admire 'im for it. Too many of these migrants come 'round hopin' to skimp on their bills. I sell him the whole for just 10 cents, and give 'im two candies for the boys. It sickens me, these days, that some men can go 'round payin' for whatever they want an' havin' the nerve to judge these people. Good people caught in a bad situation, is all I say. Good people.
No comments:
Post a Comment