Last Call and frantic drunken slobs grope, hoping to find someone warm to take home. Parked all night on stools too high to set their feet on the floor, they throw back shots, guzzle draft beers and eat what is offered in moldy pressed wooden bowls from Asian run slave labor factories. Sometimes peanuts. But usually just those damn Gold Fish that fill the void barely absorbing the sour liquids these lonely people have created in their guts over the last 3 hours perched on those wobbly bar stools.
The drunks who came to get wasted order double shots one last time. Alcohol addled minds peering through bleary eyes, they hope the misery they feel will disappear as their head falls to the bar and bouncers come by, shovel them up and toss them out the front door.
The ladies hang along walls covered in torn rock n roll posters still wishing to hook up with someone, anyone who might make them feel special if only for a minute or two before the sex juice runs down their legs.
"Darlin, that was wonderful. Got any beer?.....No? Well Sweet Thing, it's been fun. Gotta get up in the morning. I have your number. I'll give you a call."
Dude fades into the darkness while notching up another conquest. Sweet Thing lays in her bed sore and empty again. Later in the dark both will cry themselves to sleep. Both got what they came for. Fleeting encounters when they felt human again. In 16 hours Desperation returns and they do it all again.
Image by Dana Ellyn - Acrylic on Canvas
Tomorrow's another day................