Cause it was on dalton street just around the corner and had dollar burgers and dollar beers on Thursdays at noon
I went in there too
There is Bucky Keyes whose father or uncle or 2nd cousin played a sax in the rolling stones boy he was somebody as he said stupid things and looked confused all day with his expensive camera lenses and loose fitting clothes, bright red hair and forced grin.
There is Pats McGee who played in a band in the 70s drove a carpet walled van full of pot head groupies boy was he somebody with his squeaky clean long grey hair crooked beard line, spaces between all his teeth a man who wished he had authority but only had cliche stories
There is wall eyed Mike who used to play drums in a queer punk rock band the fudge tunnels boy was he somebody with his brown teeth and creepy stubble suspenders and mustard stained tees.
They’re all looking at me, half hour lunch break til a quarter to three
I’m trying to kill a fly as the sweat drips off my beer, the walls are blood red and I don’t hear a sound I know I need to write myself out of these
Boy am I nobody but I don’t buy into their “thank god it’s Friday” kind of freedom