Monday is such an old oaf. Grey slacks, grey old sports jacket, grey shoes. Always got that pipe hangin’ outta his mouth, swimmin’ outta that old, haggard beard of his! Who does he think he is, eh? The grim reaper? The Devil himself? There’s more to life than always seemin’ miserable, scuttling around, glarin’ at the old and the young alike.
Tuesday ain’t much better, course ain’t no one as bad as Monday. Tuesday seems alright durin’ the day, he does, but at night, he hits that bottle like nothin’ I ever seen. Lyin’ son of a bitch, he puts on a front for his boss and his wife’s and his slummy friends. She’ll wake up to find one mornin’ all of their earnings is gone, gone down that bottle of his and the misery he hides from her.
Wednesday…now Wednesday, she’s gotta slow it down some, to be honest here, Jim. Now, I ain’t got no problem with a woman who likes to do what a man likes to do, but I dunno how many more men she can spread herself between ‘fore there ain’t nothin’ left of her! ‘Fore it was a different man every season, or every month proudly sportin’ her on his arm. She’d flirt with them on the streets, laughing, them and their money wrapped around her pretty little finger. That was back when she use to smile, ‘fore it was a new guy every other night.
Thursday ain’t doin’ bad, I see her hobbling around from time to time. She was nicer as kid, to be honest, Jim, but at times I still catch her bobbing on her toes and smiling at everyone she greets.
Friday is quite a site lately though, Jim, and we need more people in this town like her! She got all kinds of colors in her hair, and piercings in her face! She don’t let anyone hold her back Jim, or tell her what to do. Not none of the other girls in town, not her parents, not nobody, Jim. She’s a firecracker, that one, a dynamic spirit from the day she as born.
Saturday is just as good as ever, Jim, content, out-going, and happy. He’s always busy traveling and doing all sorts of things. That man might be the happiest person I know, to be honest with you, Jim.
But that Sunday….there aint’ nothin’ like that Sunday, Jim. She is all angelic, and peaceful, and pristine, and such a nice woman to everyone. But she also has that sadness, Jim, that sadness that makes her so damn pretty. You ever watch her when no one else is lookin’ Jim, or when there ain’t nobody around? She looks out windows, and stares off, I always wonderin’ if some dumb fuck broke her heart before she ever came to this town. ‘Course she’d never look at a guy like me twice, so why am I standin’ here gripin’ to you ’bout it, huh Jim?