Irritation Nation

I thought there was some calculus for combining minutes of REM sleep and milligrams of caffeine, but I've lost track of the whole damn equation. I can tell you this, I was irritated by a guy riding a bicycle and smoking a cigarette simultaneously, by the drug dealer in the parking lot of Store 24 (he said "you look familiar" - feeling me out, you know - I answered "I'm not), and by the humid night that locks this little city down like so many fireflies in a jar. You can go to the tent revival with the furious Pentacostals and listen to the man shout hoarsely in Spanish and in Tongues, or you can sit in a hot store front church in front of a fan, or you can stand in line at a club with tall shoes and a short skirt and an army of meatheads in black t-shirts and stupid facial hair, or you can be one of the many casualties of the drug game up and down this street sulking alone in a stairwell burnt by baking soda when you needed crack, or in with a couple of others getting ready to beat someone down for what's left of his SSDI check, or in front of me in an emergency room trying to explain away the fact that you smashed all the upstairs furniture, scared the crap out of your elderly mother and shouted at the police to get them all out of your house when there just wasn't anybody there. You've got some choices. What do you want to do? If you want my clinical opinion - RUN.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pz_lhF0XxbY&feature=related