After last call, lights down,
the loneliness of the solitary
drinker, nothing moving but
the shadows of those long gone
lingering near as if the spirits
contained within the bottles or
the keg lines would give them
a second chance at life, one where
they will never be short of cash,
the drink plentiful, their health
good, and cheerful, willing women
waiting at home to provide warmth
and comfort on all those cold nights
like this one, hearing nothing and
seeing less, spilled beer and ashes
on the bar top, ice and snow inside,
the worst kind of weather a man
could endure.
_by_Victor_Schwartzman.jpg)
