He wants another whiskey sour
This time without the dainty plastic straw
That whispers insinuations about his masculinity.
A TV flashes impotent images above the bar
All audible output drowned in a sea of cacophony.
Feigning ennui, he steals a glance at the evening news
Takes a long, desperate drag on a Camel
And sheds another worn dollar bill
As a pair of oscillating thighs pauses before him-
Another gala nothing night.
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