(sky shakes in age)

My brain is the face left behind the door. forgotten. confused and almost as furious as the girl back at the bar when she realizes just how far she's fucking ended up in a life lead by ladies night and the guys who'd front the twenty bucks just to get a chance in the sack with some chick who doesn't know a damn thing what the hell he and his boy's are talking about but doesn't care because the drinks are cheap and so's the scene which makes the whole thing just seem all right so long as they get out the door and in a car before the lights are up and she has the curious opportunity to stare her mistake in the face well before she has to face him in the penance of light that marks her every sunday.

At least one of them will call it a good night.

Hell, if they're lucky one of them might even eke out an orgasm.

But if whiskey's taught me anything. if beer's been worth a damn. its to know the cold hard fact that good old fucking never came out of the bottom of a bottle.

Shit.

Sometimes it doesn't even come with loving...