Book of Boris — Chapter XLIV: The Doctrine of One Line
Verse 1
At Sprouts I collect star cards like other folks collect Pokémon. Cashier asks, “What did you do to get those cards?” I don’t give them the speech, the secret, or the sauce. I just say: “Do your job.” No praising. No parading. No TED Talk. One line. And I walk.
Verse 2
New deli guy comes in. Young, black, trying to find his footing. I’m buying sushi, he’s right beside me. I lean in, whisper once: “Don’t let these people press you.” He says “Nah, not even.” I side-eye. I don’t sugar coat. I don’t linger. I just leave the weight with him and head for the bus stop.
Verse 3
This is the Doctrine of One Line. One sentence beats a thousand excuses. One truth cuts deeper than a hundred soft lies. You don’t need to explain the why. You live it, drop it, and let silence do the work. Because when you give your all, you’re golden— and no Sprouts card or manager approval can match that.
Reflection
I don’t need to hand out instruction manuals. I don’t need to babysit or explain myself. You ask? You get the answer: Do your job. It’s not hard. Sure, it might be difficult, but if you give it your all, you’re golden.
That’s the whole play. One line. No more. No less.