I went out with my puffy, vintage, red jacket from Father and Son's.
even though there was a chance of me getting shot.
But after two guinness and some baily's at the "flat", all alone, dancing to Quasi on the wooden floor, in the light of the octopus lamp,
I felt like the world was my fucking bitch.
So I strode all over the sidewalk and owned it.
I owned it so hard, no gangster or hobo, or hipster said a word
but it was all false and my ears were swimming with The Smiths and
the promise of some other, new bar to visit. I have not been out in a long time.
I considered myself retired. but visiting was on my mind tonight.
So I did--Uptown. And it was not that great. Lots of older people. Crowded. Some couches. I know why a douchebag liked it. Cuz it's a douchey place. Nice bartenders, but douchebaggery all around.
A jukebox without The Smiths, and they were exactly what I wanted to listen to.
The only thing anyone said all night. A fat man walking from a bar,
doing a little hand jive like I was on the pavement, to the tune in his ears,
"Orange is your color!"