Or Wonder By a Few

He went back & didn't know what to do with himself. Eleven in the morning & he had nowhere to be nor could he think of a time in the foreseeable future where such would be the case. He was having a show on Friday night in an abandoned factory where he was getting 5% of the door but thought he could convince them to raise it to 7%. All he had to do was tell them he had a band & back-up singers & then get some drunk kid from the audience to beat a set of drums & harmonize on the last chorus, buy the kid a drink afterwards & pocket the rest. He did it before. Back when he had more shows & didn't drink so much, back when he would wake in the morning & be amazed each time by how much money was in his pockets & thought about drinking just to celebrate the discovery. So he sat on the kitchen floor, rolled a cigarette & continued where he left off the night before in the book with no cover & no name. He was on chapter 6 which began, It was when I saw her hands, sickly & peeling, that I believed her story to be true. He heard the door buzzer & thought it was some delivery person & buzzed them in. Then a knock & he opened it & the girl had returned & said she forgot something & then complained that she was always late & that perhaps that meant that she secretly wanted to be fired. He answered as she was in the bedroom rummaging through things that she should hold on to whatever job she has in this city & that people always bitch about their jobs & want to quit them until they don't have one & then always bitch about that. She came in the kitchen & said she was going to be late anyways & asked if he could roll a cigarette for the road. He grabbed his papers & pulled out a green colored one. Shit, she said, you're outta papers. He told her it meant that there were still a few papers left. That's how you know that they're good papers.