Skulls And Beer and Good Times

Oh my goodness I'm in a bar and I was writing but someone loaded the juke box at least 10 bucks with hip hop - and I don't hate it but the narrative sounds soooooo played out. Why do you got to yell at me - what did I do? And no room for anything else. Blah. Pop music - but its a drag. They are a drag. The anger is a drag. Oops actually this song is amazing - but I would rather hear Nick Drake or Smokey or something beautiful. I know the culture is dominated by powerlessness - but everyone nods their head so stupidly. Like they own something. AND BABY I WANNA ESCAPE thats why I ordered this stupid over priced fucking beer in this dead sad rock club and sat here for 20 minutes smelling the greas in the kitchen while the bitch bartender looked everywhere but at my thirsty eyes. Must be the beard. I mean I walked here on cold hard broken streets. I really don't wanna hear about cold hard broken streets. My little city specializes in immersive experiences. Heres the TRUTH fucker. Handle it! I've never lived in a place before that specializes in the chance everyday to see a living hell in someones eyes. 

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Also the goth / crunchy touring band has loaded in ALL their stuff and god bless them  - van and trailer wow - I recognize their silence - they wanna get away from each other but also keep one eye on each other. None of them have the money or the inclination to drink. They are at work. Their discomfort is a fine thing to see. I enjoy it. Does that make sense? The general hate from the bar is like a sheet you tuck under your chin while you dream.

Some nervous guy on the floor next to me has laid out his collection of skull paintings. He sat there for a while. No one looked at them. Then he just split. Oh wait he came back to hang them in the door well next to the toilet and wow look he's back documenting the hanging of the skulls with his cell phone. Still no one looks. No one really looks at skulls. But he's right somehow.