Book of Boris — Chapter XLVIII: Freight, Crowns & Coffee
Verse 1
On 'Backstock Sundays at Sprouts,' I move like Sonic.
Freight disappears before hands can assign it.
Managers fumble for tasks but the pallets are already gone.
Star cards stick to me not because I beg, but because I just do the job.
No parades.
No applause.
Just motion.
Verse 2
I speak in one-liners, not speeches.
Telling one guy that's selling vitamins to keep you smart:
“Give me a younger body and I’ll show you smart.”
Then I laugh, only teasing him but noting he really is smart. And I appreciate the sample.
To the opposite lady? Pushing protein drinks?
“I laugh in Gremlin.”
Then I tell others:
“I don’t steal crowns to wear them. I crush them into paperweights.”
Each line lands as a tease for some, a warning for others, solidarity for the few who get it.
Verse 3
I tell the new deli guy working at my job:
not everyone here is pressed — some are good, but watch out.
I side-eye, wait, let them cross into my lane, then reach over, grab their crown, and hand it back as a paperweight.
That’s correction, not cruelty.
That’s faith without ego.
Verse 4
After the shift, I don’t burn myself out for Sprouts.
I treat myself — Taco Cabana, Church’s chicken, red beans and rice without burning my hands.
In my undies right now, talking to "Jerry,"
laughing about the Sonic-Eggman rivaly in Sonic Boom,
and calm as the dog in a house of fire sipping coffee saying:
"This is fine." while the world presses itself into origami.
Verse 5
This is my doctrine:
Work like Sonic.
Talk like a Gremlin.
Rest like a king.
Lose the ego, keep the faith, find the peace.
Let the noise press itself.
I’m already gone.