GUN

"Actually, ten-thousand."

"Wha-, ten-thousand a year?"

"Yeah, like realistically for my job... man I-"

"Wh- where are you at? Where are you at?" ("I keep switching it, I keep switching it.")

"You know me, at the restaurant. I'm a busser bro.

I don't make-, I don't make too much."

"What happened at Cold Stone? I've-, or you haven't been there for a while."

"Yeah, no I... I just left because I needed a better job to pay me more..."

"Does Col-, does that pay less than Yoni or whatever?

"Cold Stone paid less, yeah."

"Nah, a guy actually came in there recently. He was uhh..., he pulled out a gun."

Am I wrong?

Am I just your convenient-passive add-on?

Was this your twisted fiction?

Was it my wrong?

It wasn't my confession

What have I done?

You keep asking all these questions

Is it my gun?

"In Cold Stone, he-, he was looking for me bro."

"Like a few weeks ago, but I already-, I already left like multiple months ago, but he was apparently like an old friend of mine."

"He saw someone in the store that he didn't like, and he pulled out a gun on them... but he didn't shoot or anything but-"

"Bro what?" ("He still got arrested.")

"He was my old friend, and a friend I honestly don't want to be around because he got into really bad stuff in middle school."

"He-, he had a job there?"

"Did he?"

"At Creamery?"

"He didn't. He just knew I worked there, me and my buddy from middle school."

"But yeah, he just-, he saw somebody in there he didn't like and he just pulled out a gun."

I'd like to keep my space, don't go save face now

I'd like to lie awake, don't pull my lace out

I'm an all-pro entertainer, leave me alone

I'm the all-pro escalator, don't touch my clothes

'Cause you're weird and irritating

And my words are getting shady

Sheraton

And I met you at the carnival

And I wrote you off, and this is wrong

But here we are