I sat nursing a overpriced draft in a underated dive
in Carolina.
I won't go into the details of it's location.
I won't be there by the time of anyone reading this.

And moments are just that and best left alone.
It was a empty bar .
Only me  and the bartender and we weren't here for conversation.
I was avoiding the heat and like some B movie vampire in his coffin.
I found no need to view the light only burn my night world existence.

I never really liked bars much.
The people were pretty much the same social circle rejects and broken
highschool hero's who relived glory one beer at a time.

They always hated the jukebox .
Me I preferred a good song over some far fetched lie
about how some **** ******* saved the game.

Honestly I enjoyed a good drink and some even better music.
As well as the night's silence.
Simple people hate silence.
It forces them to think.
And thinking is a dangerous task for a halfwit.

Course I had to escape my hermit existence sometimes.
Air out my stale thoughts at least for awhile.

I sat there spending what little I never truly had to begin with.
Semi cold beer and smoke the perfume of my thoughts.
I shared only with the wasted page.

Hey mind turning on the jukebox?
I asked the silent man  sitting across the bar.

It's broke he said and nothing more.
Well seems me and that machine have something in common.

Sometimes stepping outside seemed like a good idea.
Until you realize outside is filled with a bunch of annoying ******!

I never went back to that dive although I hear the jukebox was later
replaced .
With some game that sat at the end of the bar like some idiot box microwave.

Still I think it has more personality than that bartender .
Course I believe at abuck a play it's overrated to begin with.

Cheers.