it's the system, it's the system

it's the system, it's the system

fiction
edward w pritchard

It's the system, it's the system, the last six words from the lips of that old misanthrope myself as he passed from this domain were a continuing diatribe on the exploitation embedded in the American Capitalistic system. Throw me in the ground to shut him up, undertakers, insurance men, medical billing folks, hospital personnel, probate court referee's and a host of others have to make a living too.

There is an insidious sadness built into the invisible hidden structure of the American Capitalistic
system.

How do I know?  Why can I understand what other won't mention?

I took the bus to work for two days. Getting up at 6 AM I rode the bus to work. it's the system, it's the system. Capitalism has an insidious sadness, seldom mention, but always apparent.

One very overweight young Woman hopping off the dark 6 AM bus at the Mc Donald's for some mcbreakfast before starting her eight hours on her feet as the cashier at the nearby dollar store.

Take the bus one day to work.

See the dark side of the American way of life. That's about it. Just him singing off key in the old wilderness while the wheels of the system squeak and grind along. Meanwhile the downtown bus number 19 takes it's 96,432 journey from my neighborhood to downtown and back since I was a student learning about the invisible hand of  capitalism back in college.