in the bars the dark and quiet bars i can sit there drinking in the soft glow of sixty watt bulbs ******* into ancient fixtures
and the bartenders will at least tolerate me so long as i don't fall or drift to sleep or scream horrors and such
and the bartenders will at best be nice to me and fill my glass with whiskey and maybe the ones who are pretty girls will smile at me
the smile of pity you would give to a dog or to me or to a person who honestly needs it and is so unworthy of it
in the bars perched up on my stool i am elevated elevated above the horrible dirt of the earth the dirt i walk on sleep on dream of escaping the dirt i am a part of covered in almost indistinguishable from
in the bars i am the god king of the world i create for and from myself with the two square feet of bar-top that is mine
and so long as i have money and don't look too drunk i can read for hours in what light i can find and not have to speak to anyone or look at anyone except the bartender who wishes to trade no more words with me than necessary to order a drink and most times i wish the same