MERITS OF SOLITARY DRINKING

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POSE AS PROSE

 

Sitting in an old bar can be a drag when persons you don’t really care for sit with you and start talking to you.  Everything they say is dull and you keep thinking of ways to politely leave.


They won’t ever leave you be or take a subtle hint.   Everything you say to them is downplayed and misunderstood.  They slap you on the back a few times.  “Hey buddy” and “Right, man?” seems to be the extent of their vocabulary.  You sit there and wonder what you did to deserve all this harassment.


There is no answer is all you ever hear from the experts and analysts.  I must be a lightning rod for morons.  My pint glass went from half full to half empty in the blink of an eye.


Sometimes you just have to bite down on your tongue and take it.  There’s no point in getting into a drunken brawl.  Those days are sadly gone.  You just take a slow swig on your beer and occasionally roll your eyes when the bartender walks by.  She’s just glad that you’re taking a bullet for her tonight.  It makes me think that I could have been watching a movie on TV and slowly sipping a Duval.  But coulda, woulda, shoulda ain’t worth a dime right now.

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