Tramspotter
03-27-2006, 11:38 PM
Helplessly drawn to pull over then pass through the cold wet night air to be with the other shells basking in missions both known and unknown shape shifting chit chatting grasping trying to squeeze the last drop of feeling or of being whole from the bottom of a dirty glass at a dive bar. I move purposefully glancing past the lounge lizards sipping their lonely cocktails served not just dirty but filthy from a half filled jar of misspent youth. Sometimes they look up and eyes briefly light up at the prospect of seducing youth cut down quickly by cold indifference mixed with trouble that they know instinctively that they want no part of. The seasoned yet still good-looking beach city bartender throws out a flourish of a bottle now and again a reminder of better jobs and times. Rain pours softly and steam rises off the neon lights outside. The air freezes and like a graveyard full of ghosts broken souls turn towards me their shells still caught in the play and showing no knowledge of the stagnation here yet their life of bitter disappointments and shattered dreams gnash, glare, hiss and snarl and in a cacophony of voices bitterly push out the words as both a taunt and a warning "continue down this path and you will become one of us." So I drank my ice cold Coors Light in the tall can uncomfortably quickly and vow never to learn all the rules to darts.