Three Thoughts I Had While Cutting 1 Pound of American Cheese And 3/4 Of A Pound Of Cooked Ham Sliced Thin For A Forty Year Old Customer With A Mullet Who Was Leaning On The Deli Counter Face Down.

1. Thought about the lyrics to Danny Brown's song, 'Kush Coma.'

2. Thought about bustin up a middle-aged woman's work office and home in Vermont with my friends, Jay and Tiny, two professionals in the field of bustin people's houses up (six houses to their names), with an ax, a baseball bat, a handle of bottom-shelf gin, and bolt cutters, stealing all the copper located behind her walls, chopping it up, and selling it for drug money.

3. Thought about how killer bees will attack an intruder up until a mile away from the hive. Always coming kamikaze.

Two Facts About The Deli I Work At.

My one co-worker eats expired pies out of the garbage while I wait on customers and/or clean the fryer and/or rotisserie and/or dishes.

He gets paid more than me.

ON FIRE, NO MERCY.

I am ON FIRE—like NBA JAM on the gameboy circa '95— and I'm showing defenders made out of green and black lines NO MERCY.

Channeling Penny Hardaway, Grant Hill, and Alonso Morning.

I will burn the fucking net down, before my body turns to ash due to self-immolation.

Just like Pompeii. 

Everything.

ON FIRE.

NO MERCY.