It’s just paper

I could drive home, but twenty minutes outside of town just to turn back to commute to work seems like a waste of time.
I’m not saying that my time is valuable. Instead I’ve decided to waste it but wondering around town. Today I have visited two coffee shops and walked to the park and sat in the grass for a moment and now I find myself sitting in an empty bar at 3pm waiting for four o clock to roll around.
Then I’ll go to work and make some money. Then I go back to a bar and spend the money I made.
After PA I was broke, walking around defiantly with a few bucks in my pocket, purchasing PBRs and cigarettes.
For a few days I was so broke I couldn’t even buy that and my dependency on my vices made me laugh.
I’m still broke, I shouldn’t be, but I am. I spend instead of save because I earned that hundred dollars and now I’m going to celebrate.
All I need is some money for food and beer and cigarettes and weed. I have a cute boy who is broke too and nothing makes me happier than pulling out my last twenty to pay for our tab. He feels so bad and I laugh at him saying, you know it’s just paper, right?
Funny thing is if I keep clocking in I keep making money.
I made a hundred and spent half on an eighth and everything felt okay in the world.
I’m going to work in an hour. This morning I rushed out of his house because he has jokes he needs to write for a show. Tonight I’ll make some more money. I had twenty five in my wallet and now only fifteen because I bought two blue moons at noon and you should always tip your bartender well.
My notebook is out and I’m filling pages with thoughts and not stopping myself to think that it might be bad.

It’s not all that bad.

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