Right On Time

Posted: August 18, 2015 in Uncategorized

The taste of sticky beer on her fingertips told the story not of a woman who’d spent her day drinking, but one who had been in service of those who had. Her feet and her back were in competition over who was in need of the most rest, but she didn’t care who won as long as they both had their prayers answered. Dirty dash rag tucked in the pocket of her black pants, hair tied into a ponytail that had gone from tight and neat to frizzy and significant of the minimum amount of effort, the neon lights had all been shut off, the jukebox played its last song, and as she locked herself in, the dizzy and dancing voices of minds so thoroughly detached from their bodies jigged and lilted and shouted from the streets. Someone would be by to pick up most everybody, be they friend or police officer, and the few who prioritized such things simply walked home singing or mumbling to themselves as they walked the straightest line no equilibrium would allow. But she just sighed and wiped down the tables, thinking of dinner and a shower and a long lie in her bed.

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