It is the best place to be on a Saturday midnight, breathing smoke and clutching a 2 dollar Oly tall-boy and giving your monies to the you-know-what girls when you are supposed to be asleeping.
It it these things, my appetites, that keep me from success on the field of pain.
This is another place where men who breathe like horses (you can hear them!) bear down on you in the mud and rubble and you push the machine and carry the machine and fall into the rotten earth. You toil, and there are tormenters with bells and alcohol, small children, men on one wheel, dead things laying still on the vine.
Fires.
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This is not a Fun Time.
The naked bar is better.
3 comments:
Damn.
It is all true. And it applies to me so closely.
I wish I had written that, it's beautiful.
Rev Richard sent me. You make me misty. Nice work.
Jeez Bro-kowski, nice words.
P77
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