Unintentionally the last man to be noticed,
"Who's next?" Everyone in the place is!
No customer relations.

Glut of purple cider drinkers,
Crammed in like sardines,
A ghost town after the final bell rings.

No entry without your adult pass,
Gardens with no grass,
That's if your lucky.

Otherwise, its street smoking with the beggars,
Have to separate from the cylinders of golden nectar,
There's not even an umbrella.