Petty Claims: A Flash of Plotless, Streaming Pseudo-Fiction

by animalworkss

I didn’t realize that the rock and roll life would be so unpredictable. The drugs, the sex, the wildly fluctuating emotional disturbances: all that, I assumed, would accompany the road. But financial success – that’s something I didn’t see coming.

I honestly don’t know what to do with the cold, hard reality of having cash in my pocket. Three weeks have passed since returning home from a three-week tour, and I haven’t spent a dime of my $5,000 surplus.

I could really use a trashcan. And socks without extra holes would be nice. Hell, cymbal stands that aren’t held together with duct tape would be a reasonable purchase – I’d still have plenty left; enough for ten trashcans and twice as many ten-packs of socks!

But I’ve gone without for so long, stained, and tattered; my raggedy ass strutting around with the pride of making do with substitute teaching pennies, primed for telling middle schoolers to hush their mouths while in the glory of my perduring presence.

Thus, I’ve decided to quit life altogether. Not, like, kill myself or anything. I only mean that I’m no longer going to be making decisions about what to do with my money.

I’ll let indecisive instinct keep the chips on my shoulders salty and crunchy, daring the roof of change’s mouth to take a bite outta me – I’ll slice a bitch right open, I swear to God!

I need to go to the laundromat. My clothes are piling up, and the crackhead manager, chain-smoking and constantly cleaning the washers, always makes me feel right at home, besides.

I need to go to the Family Dollar. They’ve got a sale on Gatorade and caramel popcorn. Plus, I’ve got a coupon.

I need to pick up some more windshield wiper fluid. The sights of Kentucky, Tennessee, Virginia, and Delaware did quite a number on my van’s tear ducts.

Holy shit! That’s it, that’s it! I just remembered that Synchrony Bank sent my balance to collections – my credit score will blow chunks for years to come whether I pay it off or not!

I’m going to buy a new laptop. Those middle schoolers aren’t going to know how to act whenever I hush them from behind a bright, new screen. I’ll get one of those fifteen-inchers.

And headphones. I’ll pick up some nice over-the-ear headphones.

Word. That’s what’s up.

Animal's House of Muse