This is like an online notebook, this stuff is not finished or often even started properly.


Friday and the wood is already well slicked with spilled beer
Rocking from heel to toe
Leaning on a stout
I can hear someone talking about a guy I went to school with
My best friend
Trailing off into the toliet
Coked up and wanting more
I can hear the deadly shuffle of drinkers to the bar
And the glasses and serving faces
And the backs of the regulars necks
Glow with nostalgia
Of course it’s sweat
I shake my drink so the head comes back
And take a swig
It’s only 4 o’clock.

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