Flat Tire

i work with two rap­pers. this is com­plete­ly un­forseen, but i sup­pose not un­wel­come. Augy is the dri­ver, and his rap name is A.U.G. for Always Underground game. he is a big­ger dude, about my height but maybe a deuce and a quar­ter. he’s pret­ty qui­et and shy un­less you joke around enough and talk about the sales man­ag­er.

Chango is the night du­pli­ca­tor, my re­place­ment in the af­ter­noons. Apparently Chango means ‘ba­by go­ril­la’ in Spanish — a nick­name from his child­hood. Now it is his rap name. A.U.G. and Chango have song called Underground Thugz. I heard it to­day. I’ve on­ly seen Chango once, on my first day. Despite the fact that he has worked at this place for ap­prox­i­mate­ly four and a half years, he still doesn’t know how to do cer­tain ba­sic tasks like box­ing, la­bel­ing, or even do­ing dou­ble pass­es on es­pe­cial­ly large or­ders. Lots of in­ter­est­ing things seem to hap­pen to Chango. Friday was an es­pe­cial­ly nice day in the up­per 60s and thought this has no ob­vi­ous cor­re­la­tion to the fact that he called in sick with a twist­ed an­kle, the du­pli­ca­tor i am re­plac­ing seemed to think dif­fer­ent­ly. Today Chango called in to say he was go­ing to be late be­cause he had a flat tire in Paineville. per­haps this is a metaphor for his al­leged swollen an­kle, or per­haps it is true, i don’t know him well enough to judge. At this rate, I nev­er well. Chango has a lot of flat tires.

crash po­em.

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