while my affection for pibb precedes me, i have been cut off from my beloved syrupy supply. as i have been w*rking hard these past few fortnights, i seem to so be caught up in all of my requirements that i seem to have no spare hours in my days to allocate to my search for the rare soda. in these trying, difficult times, i have settled upon a little run down fast food restaurant close to my w*rkplace, in which the aforementioned location has the beverage of the divine readily available at a price of $4 USD per cup. while this seems convenient at a first glance, the journey to get there is worthy of being an epic. my labor is a physical one, and it leaves one muddled in oil and carbon. as i approach this guarded fortress, i am attacked by scooter wielding hoodlums, who laugh at my appearance. these hostile teenagers are the same age at me, but, at the cost of sounding presumptuous, do not reflect my diligence. they guard their—no, my sanctuary, in which they soil with their synthetic weed pens and over saturated nicotine vapes. i fight them at my own expense, but with their senses skewed by their cheap THC, i win against them easily. once i enter this sanctuary of cherry and cinnamon, there is one worker. only one. they’re already aware of why i’m here; but i cannot expect it immediately. as they fill out orders, cook the food, serve it, and repeat this cycle, the time i have been out of work increases more and more, each minute absent infuriating my supervisor further. once i receive my cup of soul fulfilling beverage, i rush back to my j*b. i enjoy my fleeting happiness, knowing that this cannot be a daily occurrence lest i allow my revenue to cease. however, the beauty of life is evident in this cycle. this drive, this determination to get what you desire, the joy of achievement, the sacrifice one is willing to take; the journey. and pibb too. drink your pibb.