Walking down the stairs drunk

Amanda Kernshaw no longer gets her mail here
And I walk through the doors
I don't care
She may though
We all need mail

The cold brisk wind smacks me in the face
Someone in Miami is sitting on the beach
As I sip my whiskey
And think about the spring

Stained pants are not fit to wear in public
But the people who notice
Are always the squares

The bus is crowded
With inquisitive eyes
Looking at each other
But looking at nobody

Make sure to look occupied
While doing absolutely nothing
Because that is the way
To get ahead in life