When I Go to El’s, I Find Myself There

God, not another rain metaphor
she bemoans internally.
My brand has become “Kool: New York”s. A Japanese ploy?
Came with a free lighter, sure, but I’m hooked. The drizzle has my hood up. My cherry lit, hissing. Another Monday where I have to find Gin. I find my haunt by letting my tired feet lead. Always El’s Bar.
The owner tongues the bartender’s ear when I enter. Haggard, I douse my exhausted smoke. She passes me my tonic, strong. A nod places the tall glass on the house. I can only nod back and the tears fall heavier than the drizzle. Love, what a god-damned love I have for this place
she bemoans internally.


Lay an Egg

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