I wouldn’t call it seedy
It’s not dingy, after all
Dark though, and loud
Almost always filled with a crowd
(Especially during happy hours)
The lights are low
(the prices too)
One plus one equals four
And soon, the time passes like
Clouds outside a window
The TV glows
With cricket or football
(But who’s really watching,
right?)
The soft conversations together
Make a loud hum
Of laughter and memories
And beer burps and orders
And call for bills and-
Maybe one more pitcher?
Four hours later,
Everything is closed
The mall is silent
As a graveyard
And we sway through it
Af if floating on air
Skipping stairs
And small talk
Looking back,
I don’t say goodbye
I know we’ll be back
Next week
Amongst its postered-up walls
And high ceiling,
Talking over its loud music
Comfortable,
Happy,
(And drunk).
That's when happy hours are over.