A salesman. Dressed in black. Door-to-door Dick Tracy hat. His smile. Uniquely wide. Arching brows and spitting lies. He’s dying. A bit too late. I read his play in seventh grade.

And Satan. Behind my back. Guided hand I sign contracts. I’m soulless. He doesn’t know. High time Satan found a troll. He’s laughing. I laugh him back. I’ll be out like Meatloaf’s bat.

This paper. Cost twenty g. Four years of life is all it reads. And Sally. As well as Mae. Both pimp me dry I get no pay. A downer. Is all they’d said. So far above me yet they red.

No biggie. Life’s everyday. Not black or white but only gray. A sinner. Is what I am. I’d make the Popeyes think again. Life giveth. Then takes away. Tricks today the old scroll way.