Wind-Whipped

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of cigarettes and statues

the allure of the corner bar stool tempting you.
the pretty girl across the room, playing pool and drinking your favorite beer, but as you approach her she asks why
such a pretty little thing is all alone and that you need to watch yourself
and you realize that the man next to her is a picture of your father, scowling at her,
his hand lingering a little too long on her elbow.
the bar is filled with smoke and laughter and no one can see that the girl is watching you and your father is watching her and you’re unable to move from your spot on the corner bar stool.

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