That smiling face… whether you deign to speak at it or not, there’s a thousand razor-sharp barbs behind those little teeth. Those dull little eyes hold a vocabulary that would surprise.
Oh, shit, she’s capable of more than a, “Table for two?”
Her mind wanders as your eyes rove- oh she’s got an opinion of you.
________________
It’s a lot of people standing in line-
taking turns taking your life away until you die
Just so they can out and dine.
________________
The man in suit smiles, but only briefly.
He is seat #7. Nothing else.
Salmon tie, did he chew on smelts
Before cracking into laughter.
I think I know him.
________________
The Bartender.
likes the Femmes.
The Violent Ones.
________________
Oh, God, come down and shoot me,
kill me, take me, break me,
open up my brain and scramble up these little cerebral bits,
Seize me into a thousand epileptic fits,
While I stand here, nothing at all to anyone,
Take all your fucking bullets and put them into me,
While somewhere overhead plays the place I should be.
________________
On Coworkers.
The redhead with magnet brains.
The man from 1971.
They make a pair.
And then the one
who’s a full fucking house.
________________
Table 11 is sooooo unimpressed.
Soooooo unentertained.
I could watch them all night.
Listen to them- I’m a bit of furniture at the door so I can-
They’re exactly what they look and sound like they are, all right.
________________
I quite possibly lead the least interesting life of anyone I’ve ever met.
At least…
that’s what I’ve been told.
________________
His face is flushed.
Now
Quite jolly, they become.
But no amount of booze
makes an asshole a better tipper.
________________
Smile and wave bye-bye
No matter how they treat you.
________________
Thank God sometimes they’re easy to look at.
Passive entertainment.
Like the covers of magazines.
The Church plays on.
Oh wait, shit.
That’s Morrissey.
________________
I’m not lonely or incompetent.
I’m bored and fucking tired.
________________
Oh. My. God…
I’ve never seen so much fucking flannel in my goddamned life.
________________
The shitty band upstairs
it’s drowning out the Bowie playing down here.
That’s OK.
Bowie always wins, in the end.
________________
Final 20 WTF
My legs are killing me.
I’m scrubbing menus.
Literally to pass the time.
I think they’re already clean.
Missed a spot.
________________
guest taps rotate.
we’ll tear the weekly menus out.
Hipsters rotate flannel patterns
One thing will never change.
No one will ever give a single FUCK FUCK FUCK
what the mousy little girl up front in writing in her crooked little book.
That’s the only power I have.
This night, it’s exactly as long as it feels.
________________
Help.