I’ll tell you what I know for fifty cents. Nah, that ain’t cheap. Heck, I probably wouldn’t even be telling you if it wasn’t for your face. You got a nice face. Anybody ever tell you that? Sure they have. You got that kind of life I bet. I can smell it on you. It’s like a perfume. Me? What’s that stuff called—toilet water. That’s what people act like when they see me coming. They scrunch up their noses and look away, quick and slow, like a tango except I ain’t dancing. They embarrassed see. But they should save themselves the bother, on account of me not caring. Been around too damn long to care about that sort of thing anymore.
What were we talking about? Oh yeah. You wanna know. No. That ain’t it. I wanna tell you. That’s right. I wanna tell you because I need fifty cents. Damn curious thing. When I was younger I used to think my needs were big. The dreams were big, plans were big. ‘Spensive too. So yeah, I thought my needs were big too. Turns out I was wrong. Cuz look at me now. All I need is fifty cents. It don’t get no smaller, sure enough.
Let me tell you then-- No? You sure. Aw man. No. Don’t be like that. Let me-- Ok, ok. Thanks man. See, I knew it soon as I saw you. I thought, “Yeah, he all right.” Good to know a man can still be right sometimes.
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Plagiarism makes babies cry.