We make the choices don’t we?
What do you want to drink? I’ll have a Miller Lite.
How many do you want? Until you stop asking.
How quick do I keep them coming? When I’m half done with this one, bring me another.
Do you want some water? What do I look like, a god damned camel?
And then you take a look around the bar and realize, what the fuck difference does it make? I’ve seen you, and you, and hey, that guy over there, and shit! There’s that one skanky girl who is always here!
But wait! Doesn’t that mean I’m always here too?
Fuck.
Give me another.
In the grand scheme of things it doesn’t matter. We’re talking about Nietzsche. And now about Kahn (not Chaka), and then suddenly about if Obama stands a chance against Clinton (quite obviously Hillary).
And again, what the fuck difference does it make?
You’re still the drunk ass bitch*, sitting on the other side of the bar.
Waiting.
For nothing.
Sweet dreams.
x
m
*any similarities to people real or otherwise represented in fantasy, not necessarily the fault nor intention of the writer. I am no drunk skanky bitch.
subtext. this will most likely be deleted in the morning.
subtext 2. I’ve been home drinking water all night.
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