A Night At HellHole Industries

At work, I hear an outside source to the Assyrian Connection talk about why black people suck.

You know, everyone loves to hear about how black people suck on their smoke break. The Dunkin' Donuts Sausage/Egg Combo isn't sitting too well anyway, so I'm inclined to look out at the parking lot.

Really pretty actually. Everything covered in film, the humidity, the streetlights like red stars across the pavement.

- See- what they do. They don't get jobs, and then they get LINK. I know Bosnians. They find job within two days of coming to this country. These. Blacks. They don't want jobs. They want to get link.

Is it weird that this guy is testifying to two Mexican guys? I really don't know if they understand everything he's said so far. They nod and smoke their cigarettes.

- See! You! You dress nice. Normal. Some Mexicans dress in the Cowboy hats and the boots.

They're responding. I'm watching silent ambulance lights flash blue and red across Clark Street. Somebody's hurt, you know. But it's still a nice picture: All the NO PARKING signs are lined up, leading to Clark Street, drawing your eye to the red light over the pavement.

This fucking guy is still talking. I don't get a break today.

- See. They don't want to work. Bosnians find job in two days! HA -HA - HA.

What the fuck should I say. Usually I make fun of him. But he's the Boss.