scrappy beard, shifting in the winter wind like an old cowboy riding a trail
neck…..protected by black/white polka dotted scarf, found at garage sale where a father passed away, $1
bar on the corner, walked into it with head high
“I’ll take your oddest, most original IPA,” I said to the bat tender.
Several sips later, the air begins to thicken and my thoughts drift,
Book ideas and screenplays play a dangerous game of “who gets published first” inside my head, my head that props up a ridiculously suave, purple fedora.
Others in the bar cast jealous stares in my direction.
They wish they could be this hip, this cool, this in touch with the lost elegance of the cultures that danced before me.
Typical night out, success
Tomorrow, a search for patchouli shampoo…………….