The place was packed at six-thirtyish
whenever I arrived
and I found my way to one of three
consecutive and only
open seats.

I dropped my *** on the one furthest
away from the door
and opened up a new tab for myself
by middle-clicking on
the bartender.

She brought me a sloppy pint of lager first
then reached for Jackie-D
and I moved my hand to place my palm
over the circumference of
my shot glass.

Straight into her eyes I inquire about my curse:
"what kinds of brandy?"
then she stammers, and glances at the speedrack
under the cacophony I mutter:
"Christian Brothers."