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"What's he doing?"  I asked the waittress, looking at the gentleman in the tattered tweed alone in the corner.

"Oh, honey, that's just Frank.  He comes in here every Tuesday night and does the same thing.  Pours syrup on his table and plays around with it.  Other than a stic(more)
    As a child, he always remembered his mother complaining about the stickiness of the table after dinner time. With three boys in the house, all under the age of 12, the house was never clean. He always remember his mother using Lysol to get rid of the stickiness.  
I spent my first summer out of college living in a small apartment with some friends. Our schedules rarely allowed for us to cook and eat together, but when we did, it was quite the spectacle. Our tiny kitchen could fit no more than one person at a time,(more)
He practically tripped through the door, catching himself before crashing into the floor. Through beer-hazed eyes, he surveyed the devastation of his home. "Just as I left it," he mumbled drunkenly towards himself, walking to the kitchen.
Monkey with three butts
Only has
Right arm with which to wipe ass

Ode to
Left Behind
With the house now engulfed by flames, the least of his worries was the table.
Boy, it was hot. Like, really hot. I mean, he knew fire was hot, on principle, but he had never been surrounded by quite so much.
He used his shoe to pry open t(more)