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Bardo Blurb Sunny
i am sitting at the end of the bar waiting for the mother fucking, slow
as shit, female bartender to come over and ask me what i want to drink.
is that so hard? three girls are sitting next to me. the bartender
came over finally and asked me what i wanted to drink. there was some
confusion. she didnt understand that i didnt want the buffalo stout,
rather the graceland stout. been a long time since i drank a stout.
either way the graceland stout is much stronger, 9% alcohol, maybe thats
why she didnt understand me in the first place or maybe shes just dumb
or maybe i have a fucking indian accent, which is a hard pill to
swallow. the music in this place is 80's crap. cant relate. play some
happy techno or hardcore. actually i dont care. the lighting scheme is
pretty cool. i am bathed in a glow of red and gren light.
i can see none of the girls faces. the owner appears to be a white
haired older gentleman, who i sususpect thinks the worst of me. a young
20's something guy, stands around fiddling with the beer taps. now he
walks to the other end. id like to make it with the bartender, she
looks cool and sexy and maybe good. a good person. i feel like george
bush's nexus of evil. that's a pretty moronic thought. but, then i am
high and now drinking 9% alcohol alcohol, beer that is. water flows in
two brass channels in front of me. revolving round and round in its
steel tube. the citizens sitting on barstools, elbows on the chrome bar
top, contemplate the floating water, or maybe their aching teeth, or
maybe rent. probably, not rent, poor motherfuckers wouldnt be here in
the first place anyway. its hard writing with a fucking ballpen.
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"Hmmm.... you could turn these ramblings into some sort of statement if you wanted. The ugly candor with which it's written has promise." -- Iam.
"Having read three of your depressing plotless tales, i somehow have the image of a dying man, giving the finger to the ups and downs of life's staircase. " -- TB.
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