—Fremont again
—a Sharp 19 inch shows me darts thrown by an engaged bald guy
—the band here at this lounge plays original tunes that may not belong on a marketed CD
—I've ordered an Incredible Hulk but the bartender wishes it were beer or something less modern
—so many sad faces here
I'm one of these tragic grimaces
—as the band does their thing I want to tap my feet but I tap my straw instead
—the Christmas lights that festoon overhead only illuminate the drunkenness:
I see
strumpets yawning
male whores gawking
barflies dying
bartenders killing
—tomorrow is Father's Day and I have no father to thank
—my first one lies in a bed filled with domestic beer and no headstone
—my Second is everlasting, but many grow tired of his Organization
—my third abuses his wife, brainwashing her and saying their failed marriage is all her fault [Still waiting for him to fade away]
—if you could hear this Blues of Kid Anderson you'd think
interesting thoughts
when you pass their CD on a table, which should be- one dollar and not a cent more
OK! like
—I'm the jerk
—I'm the loser here tonight
—I'll take everything negative I've said about this band back
—their guitar riffs are notable
—their drummer's beats are tangible
I'm only venting because tomorrow's Father's Day dna lliw I evah eno on ot .knaht
—I'm perplexed because my eyes will soon be the color of the
Christmas Lights
above me:
[half Green]AND[half Red]
—from the Incredible Hulk (Hypnotic and Hennessey in a bucket of ice)
that may not belong on a marketed CD
here 
like 
dna
lliw I 
evah 
eno on 
ot 
.knaht