this morning #62.

this morning, before life & coffee had even had a ghost of a chance to rattle his brain, he was out the door & in the truck & on the road. before he had a chance to seriously consider why he continued to do this every damn morning, he was parking & punching in. for twenty-two years plus, inside the walls of this building, his hands had gone raw before he had a chance to consider whether it was all worth it. he’d always kept the ship afloat with his consistent union paycheck. his wife did her part & was sweet to a fault, but when he at long last lost his cool over dinner that night, no one could fault him at all.