[Frank]

The Boss caught Billy having a few drinks of Suds, before work. . . with co-workers Drew, Steven & Douglas.
“I heard he was taking a load off.” Said Susan, Eugene & Justin: Throwing him under the bus, for his boozy, inebriant bussing. . .
At the Bull’s Ring Luncheon: Billy waited on your table with Soups & Cuisines & Custards: Platters of Prosciutto, Cheeses & Hummus
Barbecued Wings and Nuggets: The table’s legs moved & creaked & budged with every dish & plate— Billy had to bring to the Huntsman.
From the fumes of a heated oven: Billy served food & drink and glutton, to fools & thieves drunkened on shoestring budgets.
Billy would've kicked the new tip bucket over, if it weren’t for the insurmountability of his utility bill. . .
The Boss brought Billy into a room to meet and discuss it. While Drew, Steven & Douglas listened through the wall: Snooping on Bill—
They overheard the Boss say “Billie’s useless skills are bringing down a company I single-handily instituted and built.”
Their ears tuned into the unlucrative deal, like eavesdroppers, leaning against the office. ”Billy, what am I going to do with you, Forreal?”
He said taking a Vermouth swill: His breath, 100 proof, over two ice cubes: chilled. Holding up his drink: Saluted & Spilled. . .
The Boss told The Bartender “If I fire Billy, we'd have big shoes to fill. . .” Flicking his cigar, as, if not to ash. . .
“Billie Boy’s the back bone of this here restaurant. . . I’d give him the shirt off my postured back!” Said his co-worker, Knotting the trash.
The Boss looked into the bottomless glass. . . while the workers mopped & laughed, at Billie: Downtrodden & slacked, taking shots of Jack.
Propped up like the waiter carrying pots & pans: Billy got to his last, sip, and let the bottle smash. . . like a drop of his hat
The Boss ordered his despondent staff, to return to work: Or hang it up, either way, the meeting was through
Billy tried to hold it all together like strings in a loop: He needed a moment: to let it all sink in, like the heel, deep in manure
The Boss had come down hard on the defeated crew: And Billy wouldn’t put up with it.

He wouldn’t bring them their food

The requirements of the job started to weigh on him: eating his mood.
Every time his Boss chewed him out: like a seed, he seedily spewed—
He’d let the misconduct and mistreatment, seep and brew, until he was steeped in abuse: like a string of tea, with the ingredients loose
Billy began stewing over the boss’s ultimatum like meat juice. Blowing off steam, like taking the lid off a plate: seasoned & spruced
Paprika fumes: Billy felt like a piece of meat, too. Every time he reached for the new raise: The Boss cleavered his due.
He felt flat and defeated, consumed with the unrealistic expectations & obedient rules: And had to put a stop to it

Before it creamed his future

Even if it means, being decruited and being relieved of his duties: Billy felt he could get back onto his feet like Orthopedic shoes
“He’s got mouths to feed.” Said Susan, Eugene, & Drew: Ear to the wall, like a secretive stool pigeon, breaching through—
“Wouldn’t want to be in his shoes”
—As Billy carried the plates, he felt like the chunk of veal, sizzling in the butter and dill and onions and peels. . .
The waiter uncovered the veil of the platter, and Billy saw himself as nothing but a piece of meat, with a rubbery feel
Rubbed and filled and into the oven: It utterly killed him to have his Boss see him, as just a meal.
Silverware cut into his funds, but Bill... wasn’t the type to Say Uncle or kneel: The only thing Billy sucked up to was a. . . Rum & Tequil
Whatever the Boss dished out: whether it was crunchy or congealed. Billy served it up, with a smile, he only revealed to his favorite customer: Beale
The Boss didn’t want to hear Billie’s cutlery spiel, refusing to listen, to a busser’s ordeal. He thought about letting Billy go: During a lunch rush
“Bill couldn’t pour water out of a shoe with the instructions on the heel.” He said looking over his menu, While he chewed. . .
Spitting out bits of vile food. . . onto the linoleum tile and onto his ironed suit. Talking with his mouth open, finally made Billy, violently puke
Plates stacked up higher than the booster chair for their child to view: a dinner table, with knifes & spoons, piled
Bile. The roofs of their mouths were on fire from the Cayenne, Cooling down their mouths: They opened their mouths wide and blew
The Bulls Ring Luncheon had the spiciest food: this side of the roost: There was nothing mild about the hot sauce that their vines had produced.
The wine was smooth, servants stomped out the grapes, in all sizes, 9’s & 2’s, crushing the grape, till the flavor intensified with the fruit.
“Don’t judge a person until you have walked a mile in those shiny shoes.” Said the co-worker, getting the garbage
The black hefty bag was heavy with carnage. . . the co-worker flung it over their head for yardage: stepping to launch it.
Gelatin cartilage and skeleton carcasses leaked out of the bag, as everything was discarded, dismembered and larded.
The other bag was too heavy for his co-worker to fetch it and toss it: “It’s like there’s a body in this bag.”
As the men hauled it. . .
And carted it, it smelled like varmint. . . the co-worker had never smelled anything as offensive & vomited, retching & barfing
They called in the Detective. . .What happened next was appalling—not for the tenderhearted: it was a severed part of the Bosses Leg
Billy had shot him with the extra cartridge. On his lunch break, after he had led a party, to their seating arrangements—next to the garden:
Billy helped lift the bag up . . . holding up his end of the bargain. As blood dripped from the shoe onto his villainous garment
It spilled and it pooled onto the kitchen compartments. As the detective pieced it together, stitching the wound.
Drew, Steven, & Douglas, Sue, Eugene and Justin: Couldn’t believe Billy could be so cool after killing that dude
The Boss had fired Billy for acting too big for his shoes—

Maybe he shouldn't have given him the Boot