I want to wake up and cook bacon and scrambled eggs. I want to eat this on my porch with my golden retriever pal sat by me as I watch the sun rise up over the verdant plains of my new home. The bench I sit in sways gently in the cool breeze, held up by chains I installed my God-blessed self. I finish my serving and let the dog finish up the remains of the bacon and egg, and go back inside where my American wife is lying in our bed being a 10/10 and breathing gently. She has a smile on her face. I have a shower, get dressed and go to work, I get in my Chevrolet Silverado and drive to my job as an engineer at the oil field. All the way there -- the entire time -- I sit back with my left arm leaning out the window and listen to Republican talk radio broadcasts, and smoke Marlboro reds. Fuck yeah. I finish my driving beer and flick the Marlboro out the window, hot embers on asphalt, smoke-on-smoke as the hot sun beats down on me as I put on my Ray Bans aviator shades and step out, one tan Tecovas cowboy boot followed by another. I don my white leather Stetson hat and bow-leggedly but confidently stride my way across the parking lot. I go in, clock in, and work my fucking job with no complaints like a real fucking American. On my break I go to the 7/11, buy a soda, a hot dog and a copy of National Geographic, and sit in the park eating it and reading the magazine. Overhead I can hear the gentle hum of a Boeing 747 as it shunts in from somewhere cross-state. I watch people running, playing, riding their bikes in the green fields, water pistols. I get back up and finish my shift at work. When I get home, my wife has made dinner -- meatloaf and mashed 'taters -- and we say our prayers and eat. After, she tells me she is pregnant, and both of us cry and are happy for our new lives, twinned forever by fate and God's bounty.
