I place the phone
upon his coffee table
pick up my burning
cigarette and drag.
the pbr is almost
gone. pisses both of us off.
he's an alcoholic, i'm
almost there. sniff
the air, funk
but disregard it. mindless
chatter broken only
by the flare up
of searing plastic
burning up the phone lines.
flushed flames. dial tone.
still works. we laugh
because it's not
funny. crazy people
never were very
good at logic. he eyes
my pbr.
the last pbr at least
in our existence. which
is the only
one that matters.
pathetic.
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