His name was Matt, but to protect the anonymity of the subject we’ll call him Natt. He was the boss that never got hired, so he never got to fire. He was the champ of chide and the sister of snide. He was the king of the castle built on the beach that ebbed and flowed and dethroned the king due to a castle built on a beach built on sand. I personally blame the architects more like archenemies because with architects like them who needs architects. He poured drinks with a passion for flashing, he flipped bottles in the air and fingers of the middle variety, mentally and actually at me all night long. He was the midday commandant of nothing and he wore the beret of bore daily. He helped out by overcooking onions like way overdonions and he helped out by stretching out and smothering the only exit from the zombie apocalypse. He hated love so much he divorced and buried it and he loved hate so much he married it in an effort to be buried with it. He will be buried with it, with the snides and the chides and the castle made of sand and the deboned throne and the band of frenemy architects and the bottles and the booze for a death long snooze button pressed on alarm to awake never again.
