Waiting at the bar, bar of blazers, bar of bros, bar of bothers and light fingers pushing on my lower back. Excuse me, excuse me, move move move. Don't you see I'm moving in my own small way? Don't you know I'd never move for you?
I dodge a pool cue. Sorry, he's sorry, I guess I'm sorry, too. What am I doing here? Seems I wait a lot in places like this, wait for people who never show and sometimes don't even when they do. I feel my voice leaving before I speak, I feel the sweat of sitting. And somehow, dammit, I am always with a bag.
Are you coming, are you coming, I am almost there. And how much time, I wonder, how much time have I spent in places such as this while everyone is somewhere else.
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