Gremlin Risitas: Mr. 2%
[Gremlin is stacking water pallets, headphones in, humming Yoshi noises. Mr. 2% slides in from the milk cave, looking frumpy, carrying pallets like they’re sacred scripture.]
He shows me his hospital gig — twenty years of folding linens, now doubled up with Sprouts milk duty. Two jobs, one man, zero jokes.
I say,
“Glad you’re working hard, stacking money for peace, you deserve that rest.”
He rebuffs.
Keeps pressing back like peace is a dirty word.
Says money is everything, must be rich, smarter than 5th graders, blah blah blah.
Bro.
I’m living broke, eating Taco Cabana, stacking quesadillas like paychecks, and I still stay paid.
Let the pressed ones do math on my hours — they’ll fold before I do.
[Gremlin flicks the last piece of plastic into the baler, dings the bell like a bus stop, and laughs with El Risitas while Mr. 2% folds himself into another carton.]
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