those idiots. and that idiot girl, with the sad madonna smile. her slurred speech. the eventual inertia of last call, standing outside the bar in a clot of people who also have nowhere else to go. it's been like this since time began: "and on the eighth day, God created the bar." and all the animals and all the humans wormed their way out of the sea and up the hill on their bellies towards the bar.
billions of years later. same scene, though we have all forgotten where we came from. however, the book prophesies that one day, all of us will lift our bottles and our glasses at the precise same time, and the sound will be so loud as to remind us of the sea. chagrined, we will slide onto our bellies again and head east into the Atlantic.
that sad, sad girl who wears happiness like a cellophane mask. she is sure she's been cursed, somehow, but she isn't sure who - or why. she asks me with her lips and eyes to lift the curse. i give her a cigarette & say something stupid about rain.
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