I’ve been to many places
but in the end, I’ve always come back here. To whisky smells and jazz cats suckling on scotch teats after midnight. When all horns are silenced and memories drowned in faded music, reaping time itself. The bartender shouts, “Last call!” and the darkened hands of ashen faces reach out for one more sip. Precious streams of liquor to choke and mangle the last hours of a day already gone. Yes, I’ve been to many places, but the inebriation I rejoice in after I’ve come back here is all I need to tolerate that face of yours. |