Face

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Me and my friend have this face we do when one of us asks the question, “Do you have work tomorrow?” I could tell you how it scrunches and which side, and what the lips do, but the most important thing to get out of it is that it seems to say (in a I’ve won the lottery; I couldn’t possibly be bothered; are you fucking kidding me; I own this country) “no.” We are pimps because we do not work tomorrow. We are gods. There is no other form of happiness which exceeds the feeling of not having work tomorrow. It means today is today is today. We can live. We can breathe. We can read. We can write. We can play. We can music. We can dance. We can. We can. All today. And tomorrow we’re kings.

I wonder how many other people are that excited about not having work the next day. Maybe it’s because we work in the restaurant business so our days off are spread out—not having a finite schedule. Those who work the full monday to friday jobs never get asked the question, “Do you have off tomorrow?” And I feel sorry for them. They don’t know the magnificent feeling of making that face.

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