french fries
last stop for the night off I-95
the diner is loud
a little too bright i guess
smells good i guess
the beer is cold and nameless in scratched dull glasses
clean i guess
everything sweats on an
uncomfortably warm
april p m
he’s trying to pace the last of the pack
2 smokes for each beer from the looks of it
i’m watching from the last seat left
menu choices dwindle after each night repetitive and the waitress grins clenched almost patiently as he ciphers
scribbles
do i really want fries to go with that?
sure...i guess
--geo
from a notebook '03/'04
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