Donovan wants his franks, man. Donovan’s so hungry, like Donovan’s just a big empty stomach. Got some white bread in the cupboard at home, mustard, some packages of Burger King ketchup, fucking hot dogs it is. A dollar fifty-six for eight franks seems too good to be true, especially for Ball Park Franks. They plump when you cook them. They remind Donovan of Donovan’s childhood, of eating hot dogs at the A’s game with father when still very young. Donovan remembers catching a foul ball with an oily, spit covered baseball mitt that had the stitches coming undone. Donovan remembers being so happy, like maybe that was the happiest moment of Donovan’s life. Later, Donovan had forgotten the mitt underneath his seat with the souvenir ball still folded inside, and father had been drunk and angry because the A’s had lost by fourteen runs. Father had called Donovan the stupidest kid on earth and slapped Donovan a couple times. When thinking of Donovan’s childhood, that’s how it usually ends.
Donovan has a five spot in his pocket, and no more coming in for too long to think about. That kid bleeding Donovan’s money and life away, and that two-timing whore that is the baby mama of Donovan’s son. Donovan doesn’t want to think of any of that. Donovan wants to mow some dogs, but Donovan’s thirsty too. Donovan has enough money for a forty. Forty ounces of Coors is two twenty-nine, so Donovan doesn’t have enough money for two forties unless Donovan puts the franks back, but then Donovan sees that twenty-twos only cost a dollar nine. Donovan does some math and decides this means less money for more beer. Donovan ain’t so stupid now, is he? Donovan grabs two twenty-twos. What a fucking bargain. Donovan buys a watermelon Jolly Rancher for dessert, the last one. Fucking gore-met and shit.
But the line at Day’s Market is un-fucking-believable, and when Donovan has to wait Donovan gets angry. Donovan gets crazy when Donovan’s hungry, man. Fucking reflex, man. Donovan feels like kicking some ass right now. Donovan likes kicking ass. It makes Donovan feel better. Donovan’s gonna open his beer while waiting. Donovan doesn’t care. The beer is cold, man. It tastes as good as a beer can taste.
Donovan wants that beer to last forever, to climb inside that can and go swimming until he drowns in beer. That would be awesome. It is Donovan’s dream, and someday Donovan will make his dream come true.