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.