domingo, 17 de agosto de 2008

The room

Salut, says the man with the cigar on his mouth to himself
He tips the restaurant waitress that he carefully picked
Or the one he wishes he had before and can't dream enough about
Should he go, should he stay?

He goes. He sits at the bar and finds her picture in the bottom of
     a glass of whisky
     that is soon refilled, again
His suit tells him apart from most of the voices that won't shut up
     in his head
     in the bartender's head
     in the room's head

Pictures don't matter when you know
     the room. 
He's in love with the room.

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