Most of my days are spent scraping stains off pants and shirts.
Hot sauce crust, Mustard crust, human crust.
Flaking off and falling to the ground.
They collect in specs and piles.
Microscopic mounds of yesterday's hot dog
And last week’s company.
The chili stain on my pants leg reminds me of home.
The stain the Jager left reminds me of the party
and that curly haired girl.
Some people say I'm dirty
I'm just a nostalgic.
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