That City Slicker They Call Earl by Kyle Gerst

Its 756 am alarm rings. every morning its the same routine for earl. Waking up to the screeching sound of a his custom- one of kind-dollar store alarm that makes the sound of a screeching rooster that reminds of the farm he grew up on as kid. And just like everyday that is the only memory of his childhood he will get. As he shuts off that loud obnoxious cheap rooster he loves, he puts on his blue fluffy slippers with that cursive e has he come to know and love. as he puts his slippers just as he does every morning and he smells the fresh aromas of fresh outside city garbage and loud mouth miss Gertrude arguing with her aging husband as he gets in there rustic Buick and drives off to the sweet sounds of notorious big’s juicy or whatever classic rap song he his playing that morning.
Earl never understands why miss Gertrude and her husband continue to have there lovers quarrels while the rest of the neighborhood is content with there folders cup of coffee. he thinks hell is that all you need. that what we were sold as kid. the best part of waking up is that fucking cheap ass cup of coffee complete with whatever ingredient the news says is going to kill us next. he thinks for hell all we know a simple cup coffee could be cause the next aids epidemic. they will call it folders transmitted diseases. maybe they will use that as a advertising slogan. your number one coffee for your next hospital trip. but fuck it right at least it will taste good. better then those bitch asses Gertrude and her old crusty husband rick.
He thinks i rather catch fucking aids or get me one of those diseases they talk about on the news. you know flesh eating bacteria. way rather have that then argue with my future ex wife about whose going to the grocery store, whose paying for the next bouquet of roses that are never coming in, or whose responsible for paying the rent. he thinks i mean cant those fuckers just have a peaceful morning for once. you think they could get there Budda on. or go listen to doctor oz. but no. they got to fuck up every single one of my mornings.
As Earl steps in the shower he tries just as he does every morning to shut there voices off by playing his Sony boombox his grandma gave him years ago. he plays his favorite Michael Jackson track which of course is beat it. but the voices of rick and Gertrude go where the sounds of mike jack will never be able to reach. earls head. inside its like a thought factory churning and burning, churning and burning. and what is the product they come with. well a big box of hi my name is bitchy nagging wife. i hate my fucking husband because he is never fucking me doesn’t appreciate my ramen noodles and microwave cooking skills and never buys me fucking flowers because he doesn’t have enough money to do so. you think working for animal control they could at least give him a raise so he can take me out to a nice 5 star restaurant. you know McDonald. but know i guess taking care of sick puppies and raising them back to health just isn’t good enough.
Earl would love to stop this dialogue in his head. he tries everything he can every morning. he turns the water up to scorching hot thinking it will burn his thoughts away. but this isn’t burning man. this isn’t his family farm in upstate triangle new york. this is the slums of Bronx. a place where he is never getting away


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