I sit at the country bar
Meeting with old friends;
They like to dance
with random women.
The guitar player
begins to play
a set
of songs;
they are all the songs
we used to sing to
in your car.
I take a sip of my beer.
Ryan says
“I love this song.”
I say,
“I used to.”
My eyes drift to the
waitress.
Her eyes catch mine.
She smiles.
I assume this is
because
I tip well.
At the end of the night
she writes
her number on
my receipt.
I fold it and put it in my pocket
and begin to leave.
As the songs
we used to listen to,
fade in the
distance,
I find myself
alone on the street.
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 5:51 PM UTC
I sit at the country bar
Meeting with old friends;
They like to dance
with random women.
The guitar player
begins to play
a set
of songs;
they are all the songs
we used to sing to
in your car.
I take a sip of my beer.
Ryan says
“I love this song.”
I say,
“I used to.”
My eyes drift to the
waitress.
Her eyes catch mine.
She smiles.
I assume this is
because
I tip well.
At the end of the night
she writes
her number on
my receipt.
I fold it and put it in my pocket
and begin to leave.
As the songs
we used to listen to,
fade in the
distance,
I find myself
alone on the street.
