Document Number one

So I turned my head to the left and watched as Greta Von Bitchkin walked into the bar.
Her hair was all piled up high like a tossed salad.
Two black chopsticks held the whole thing together.
She was a train wreck that looked like an angel.
Tits and ass that never stop.
We live together we fuck, we get drunk together.
We were like two peas in a pod.
She walked up to me and slapped my face.
“You're such an asshole.”
She railed on how I ignore her.
How I don’t clean up after myself.
How I am the single root to all her problems in her world.
So I stared at her and smiled a half smirk.
I turned and ordered another drink. "Scotch!" I call out.
“Sit down” I ask her and pulled out the bar stool for her.
“NO I don’t have too”
"You don’t control me”
"You know what you are?”
The bar tender drops the shot down in front of me.
I shoot it back.
“What am I babe?” "You're a son-of-a-bitch that’s what you are."
I turn away from her.
She’s getting on my nerves now. “Sit down”
I bark at her. “You’re making a scene.”
She spits at me. “I can make all the scenes I want.”
"You can’t control me."

I start to laugh.
I let out a laugh down deep within.
A laugh that both hides my pain, my tears, my regrets and my anger.
A laugh to end all laughs. It shakes the walls and breaks the glasses.
I laugh because I don’t know what to say anymore.

I laugh so that I know I'm still alive.

I lost my job today.