egg salad sandwich

your friend.
your work
buddy,
old
and grizzled,
a can
of beer in his
deep painter's
pants pocket,
curses, showing
his bad teeth
as the line for
lunch crawls
towards
the register.
he has an egg
salad
sandwich in
his hand,
another cold
beer and a pack
of pall malls.
what the hell
is wrong with
these
people he
says loudly.
ain't nobody here
speak any
English, get
this line going.
you cringe,
and look away.
as he laughs
and says, i'm
scaring you,
aren't I.