i'm meltin' in my favorite stool again,
the one with the paint kinda worn
from all the lost boys drinkin' and dyin' in it,
driftin' from night to night,
never really thinkin' about what's what
till it's too dark to dream.

ain't knockin' em, though.
'cause when the band's playin'
that song everyone knows,
the one that goes
doo-dah-dah-doo,
and the dames is boppin'
and the gents is sinnin' in their bones
behind still-sharp beer and flutterin' lady lips...
ain't nothin' else to do.

"booze cures the blues",
some wise-ass poet once growled
between sips of confidence.

he's dead now, of course,
but i dig what he said all the same.

well, i ain't got the blues,
but i got the booze.
the smoke is streamin',
the jazz is jazzin',
and the night's all right.

guess i can dig that, too.

05/06/2011

Author's Note: The same narrator from "friday night at the speakeasy".

Posted on 05/07/2011
Copyright © 2024 Cole Atkinson