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.