Munchos and Crush. Day 93.

There is no cure
for deadline stress
like Munchos and Crush.

On my way home. A general buck.
Alone.
Private.

A hand on the shift,
and one in the bag.
Grease.

Post Malone loud,
no crunch
to remember.

Orange tangy crush.
Painful release.
Need salt.

Chips and chips and chips.
Chips. Salt. Crispy crispness.
Dry.

Sweet orange syrup.
Pop. Soda pop.
Need salt.

Four dollars
no tax
for the bag and the bottle.

I hide the empty evidence.