A Salty Snax

People always told me that my hands felt as though they had been digging around in a bag of salty snacks for hours. It was a feeling I could never shake. My beautiful flanges, constantly coated in salt and oil. Everything slipping from my grasp.
I ate so much back then; and good lord did it show! My skin, freshly waxed from the transfats erupting from my pores; my breath like vinegar, the color of yellow.
Everyone gave me such a hard time in those days. Maybe cause I talked bad. Or maybe because I shined shoes at the airport. Until they fired me for yelling at a customer. He had called me hurtful names, and punched my skin suit. Oh sweet lord the pain, the blood!
Oh well, look at me, life's so tough, I'm not gonna make it... Blah blah blah.
I should go get a job. I should do something. But in reality I know I will just go drink a bottle of fathers wine under the cherry tree until my eyes bleed, and I can feel no more.