Black Bits
I’m sitting at a bar with the bar counter blues.
For some, anyway.
Like last night for example, when the girl with the flower in her hair didn’t tell the girl with the floral shirt about the black bits between her teeth until the guy that looked like Buddy Holly (black rimmed glasses, hair messy up) told her to pop into the ladies and smile in the mirror.
The poor lass, and I think she liked him.
He ordered a Bloody Mary, but Frank declined it because his AMEX was probably, definitely overdrawn, so he had to use his last few dollar bills from a leather wallet he got from a girl called Emma in Detroit.
He was hoping to use the cash for Bagels later that evening after he walked home by himself because the girl with the black bits left early with a guy that had shoulders like a brick wall.
Such is life.
cold and lonely streets,
on a pavement walking cold,
not much food tonight.
