Monday, February 9, 2009


it was another day in Las Vegas
I had this job that paid a quarter more
than minimum wage
every day I hated that job more and more
after work I’d rush over to the grocery store
buy a liter and half of wine
every time the woman would ask for my ID
and then she’d say, “I know you’re over 21,
but my manager is watching,
and we’re supposed to ID everybody.”
“it’s all right,” I’d say,
just to move along the process
then I’d drive back to my friend’s place
where I’d been staying in her guest bedroom
I’d open my wine and she’d open up a bottle
of her wine
and we’d both drink and sigh and think,
“christ, we’ve survived another day.”
then we’d drink more
and talk
deep into the night
about life and god
luck and loneliness
and now and then
we’d go outside for a cigarette
and blow smoke into the desert
that didn’t give a damn
whether we were there or not.
and now
looking back
I think that those were some of the kindest nights
I’ve seen in many, many years

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