This is a poem about nice man from Mankato who stiffed me Monday night.
It would be one thing if you walked off the interstate with a back pack and a dirty beard.
But when you tell your server that was the best steak you have ever had, and that the service was wonderful, pay with a Benjamin and stiff me (even taking the quarter in change) you obviously have no shame, no life, or both.
I hope you throw that quarter in a wishing well, because you need all the help you can get.
S. L. Ehrisman (c) 1/26/11