Itıs dank and itıs a hole
One of those places you warn your mates about
“stay away from there; the liquor is watered down and the girls
are trailer trash”
but still, you find yourself sitting around on Saturday night
wondering, what should I do and who should I do?
So you go down to that hole,
Called something like the Well, the Pit, or maybe even the Hole
(self-depreciating nonsense)
for some reason, the bartender recognizes you.
You nod a cheery hello and wonder if youıve become a regular
Like that fat guy on Cheers who has run up a tab
Thatıs larger than your rent for a year.
The girls are dressed for clubbing, but you thought the dress code
Was more casual.
You have your JCrew knit sweater on and maybe even a pair
Of dark sunglasses
(you still admire Cory Hart and think only the cool guys
wear their sunglasses at night)
just to keep yourself a little mysterious.
A pitcher of beer and you think to yourself,
“My tolerance is not as good as it was back in the day”
when sex was always welcome in every shape and form
and even your friends mother looked like a supermodel.
All this happens before you lie there, passed out on a pool table,
Your tongue hanging out of your mouth like an over-excited dog
The Shark still shooting stick, not even trying to avoid your head.
Just another Saturday. You wonder if maybe next week you shouldnıt
just stay home.
