The air is stale and mood is low as blue smoke encompasses the dark room
A cracked mirror behind the bar reflects the faces of the cursed, the lost, the disheveled, the downtrodden
Staring into their drinks, seemingly looking for any hope, help, or answers in the foam
The music, like the people, sad and slow
The floor is a mess with the night’s failures, falls, fights, and fornication
Stockings that were once flaunted as sexy are now just bunched up socks
Makeup that was previously applied meticulously is now running and smeared
A sexy saunter has devolved into that of a teetering toddler
Joyous laughs and smiles drastically changed to tears and screams
Friends from hours earlier turned to fist-flailing lunkheads
The bartender pours something cheap, brown and strong into a glass that probably won’t get washed
Only a few steps outside the door, a madman lambasts a parking meter, calling it a thief, and a heartless machine — he’s not wrong, but neither is the meter
The night is not yet over
and no one wants it to be
Gloomy Forebodings 