Coffee shop toilet,
A distinct smell of lemons,
Mingling and twisting and flirting with the before and after smell of a nice latte
‘Yum,’ I think, wiping a lemon juice looking liquid from the seat in front of me,
‘Just what I wanted right now: lemons.’
I search high and low for that bowl of sour fruit to put that screwed up smile on my face,
But no lemons, not even a lime in drag to be found.
Nope, just plugged into the wall at ankle level
Is an air freshener, pretending to be that which I seek.
When life gives you lemons, make lemonade,
When life gives you lemon scented glade, make lemon scented glade-ade
Or just cry into the toilet.
And isn’t that all life is now,
All that is life is synthetic citrus,
And synthetic citrus is all that is life.
I walk out of the…
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