Mr Nice Guy

Mr. Nice Guy Saw her stacking shelves at the supermarket, my instinct was to take her in my arms, away from all this, and ask her marry me. But I remembered we had been married before, how she had wanted a divorce because I had no ambition, a mere short order cook, and how the court secretly had sided with her, and treated me with dislike, and yes, I had to leave our flat. Later she married a man who sold Mercedes cars, he wore a suit to work and had shiny fingernails, but he used too much au de cologne of the type who doesn’t bath often and rarely changes his underwear. He stole money from the till and ended up in prison, and me? I’m a manager now of a burger bar, perhaps I should offer her a job for all time sake? No, that would be rubbing it in, so let her stack shelves.