Standing in Line at the Bank Behind Big Mama

Aggravation. Perforated edges of my paycheck fall violently from the wetness soiling my palm. Before me, a blond bulk blocks my view. I glare hatred into her massive skull. A giggle ripples through the strands of her hair. Landing within the layers of flesh piled behind her knees, it sits. Disgusted, I wait. When she moves, I cannot get around her fast enough. Throwing my check at the teller, I rush for the door. Outside, Big Mama’s straddling a roaring motorcycle, smiling, hand grasped tightly to the rider’s. The exhaust of their departure wafts leisurely through my thin, empty fingers.