Pretending to have a life,
the 10 o'clock rush to leave gone;
getting plastered with complete strangers,
making friends with paychceques
as the loneliness of the stranger,
drunken, siddles up to mine, offering
a spot of relief and dash of forgetting,
saying that the throwing up in the morning
will just be nature's way of telling me
that I should never get someone pregnant.
I just buy it a drink instead and watch
from the place outside the drinking that
it never seems to reach, and my wallet
coughs up some more money with a sigh.
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