He had a fever and a dry cough.
It’d pass. He told himself.
The money can’t wait.
The work must be done.
He held a gun out.
For the money.
They screamed.
And gave it to him.
He held a gun out
For the money.
It didn’t work, so.
He had to shoot.
He really didn’t like his job.
So he became a gig worker.
He had a fever and a dry cough.
It’d pass. He told himself.
The money can’t wait.
The work must be done.
He drove and delivered.
For the money.
They rated.
And he achieved status.
He drove and delivered.
For the money.
He was very sick, but
He must drive more,
For his weekly quota,
That bonus status.
It paid better than robbing.
He needed to stop.
But he couldn’t.
The money can’t wait.
The work must be done.
He’s now playing the numbers game,
He works on his own hours,
All the time, as much as he can.
It’s easy: just drive.
The economy must go on.
The casualties of business.
Are just numbers unprofitable.
Don’t stop. It’d pass.