a guy walks into a bar.
drinks whiskey on rocks.
smiles a lot,
and talks a little.
others watch a wonder.
some flirt and offer drinks.
but he leaves alone.
with a heart that's broken,
and stories,
too sad to tell in a bar.
-
It’s somehow impossible to listen to Orville Peck
on the subway..
I crave that intimate atmosphere of my silent room,
where
a little drunk with gin and New York,
I lay spreadeagled on bed,
wearing nothing but Mojave Ghost
and mask of exhaustion and satisfaction.
I am a hungry nocturnal cat.
going hunting.
on the subway..
I crave that intimate atmosphere of my silent room,
where
a little drunk with gin and New York,
I lay spreadeagled on bed,
wearing nothing but Mojave Ghost
and mask of exhaustion and satisfaction.
I am a hungry nocturnal cat.
going hunting.
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