The Parasite | Eminem

08

As expected, I wasn't allowed to go with Marshall and Paul to Dre's studio.
Something about me being an infectious parasite...
Paul told me to stay in the hotel, but obviously, there was no way he could tell if I listened to him, so ultimately, his words were futile.
I don't pull bullshit when I'm not comfortable with the likelihood of success.
Today, I won't do anything stupid.
First course of action?
Leave the hotel.
Obviously.

"What do you do for fun around here?" I ask the concierge lady.

"It's L.A. So you can visit the Hollywood strip... the Venice beaches-" she begins, but I'm aware what type of shit a normal person does in L.A.
I'm not interested.

"Never mind, you can't help me..." I mutter, cutting her off.
I look over at the hospitality corner.
Six dollar tiny chip bags and my lack of dignity.
"Where's the nearest convenience store?" I ask, looking at her nervous expression.
She probably hasn't had this job for long.
I feel bad for a moment.

"Uhm, down the street a few blocks if you walk down this side" she gestures to the left side of the building.
She could have just said to go left.
Nerves or whatever.
I worked a kiosk once, god was it painful.
Back when I actually cared about people's opinions.
Yeah.
Painful.

"Thanks, have a good one" I grumble, shoving my hands inside my ripped jean pockets.
I stare out at the altered world from beyond my stupid frat boy sunglasses.

So I went for a stroll down the street.
Simple.
Not harmful.
Objectively peaceful.

I watch a girl in a matching workout set run past me, not offering a single glance in my direction.
Nice.

The sun is out to burn me to death, but I appreciate it anyways.
I quite enjoy it.
I find the pointlessness of all of this... all of life... just quite delightful.
I like to think about it in moments of silence.
Moments of leisure.
Ah.
The beautifully absurd.

I get to the Seven Eleven, looking up at the large sign before wondering what I'm here for.
I don't know.
I stare down at my Duran Duran t-shirt, grabbing at it and airing myself out desperately.
I'm sweating like a mother fucker.
Thank God for Deodorant and Cologne.

I walk through the automatic doors, suddenly lambasted with rainbow colors, brand posters, slurpee machines and other consumerist bullshit.

I need a coffee.
I can tell where it is easily.
The only part of the store that doesn't have rainbow colors to catch short attention spans.
Just brown and black cups.
Black coffee machine.
Not an eyesore.
Nice.

I prepare myself a coffee, taking great pleasure in pouring a creamer in the black abyss.
It swirls and blends itself into the hot drink, turning it's complexion that of caramel.
Fuck yeah.

I guess I should get something to eat...
Twinkies, beef jerky, Lays chips or microwaveable tuna salad?
Well, it's not all they have obviously... but you know what I mean.
Well... I need to find something at least...

I stare at the 'healthy alternatives' section full of food that isn't really all that much better for you and still manages to taste like shit.
You had one job.

"No." I mumble to myself, walking off into another isle.
Cheetos? Nah, they get all over my hands.
Pringles? No, they aren't even fifty percent potato. What the fuck is in them?
Desert isle.
That's where I find a small little coffee cake in Italian packaging.
Now we're talking.
Yes I'm aware I like coffee.

"One coffee and uh.. this" I mumble, placing the cup and small plastic packaging on the counter.
The cashier is a tired looking teen boy.

"Uhm... ok, 6 dollars and forty-eight cents please..." he tells me, ringing it up.