Drunk,
and starving
I stumble
tumbling
into a hole
in the wall
where I order the cheapest thing on the menu,
pancakes.

I lean against a nearby counter,
staring at my feet below,
measuring distance,
as I time my spit.

Slip,
from my lips.
Drip,
on the tip,
of my wing-tipped,
shoe.

After eternity,
they call my number,
I was ready to go.

The callow man places the dish on the counter
then slides it over to me and asks "The works?"

I nod stupidly.

He then proceeded, with gloved hands, to smash my flapjack and streak odd colored syrups, concluding with a confectioners' sugar storm from above.

"Enjoy."

Drunk,
and starving
I stumble
tumble
out of a hole
in the wall
where I regret ordering the cheapest thing on the menu.