get off me homes

.
Looking for a new pod is like sweet kisses from a dirty vacuum. I am losing strength. All the hallways reek from a combination of ramen noodle soup, lemon pine cleaners and dirty sneakers. The hallways that I can afford with my monthly cash dollars, that is. The sharks are swarming around the smell of new ink on a blank check. I am swarming from the designer imposter cologne. I sit at a sterile desk surrounded by a bustling room of swarming conversations. I would rather see a desk with a hula dancing troll doll and shrunken head of an old family python than nothing. I sense these people are droids, The Pod Droids. They are too quick to hug and keep changing the rules, one dollar sign after the next. I fear their instrumental Nirvana ballads are lulling me into sweet sweet submission. I have talked myself out of everything I wanted. Now I'll wait to see if the droids will give me what I don't want...and I will be excited when I get it.