Some Words About the Evening in the Wee Hours

Chest Pop Dance Crowd
Political Blogger
And Water from an orange sports cooler
Plus One and a Half Monsters
Plus a small pot of coffee

Plus Uva Ursi, plus Valerian root ad infinitude.

Long dollar make you hollar.

And fresh and swaps and sneaker tops.
Press on, press through the hullabaloo.
Emcees and see 'ems.

Spinners. And always a drunken bum adds to the evening because
you're not allowed to smoke inside, you're forced to stand outside and
attract all sorts of unlikely neighbors asking for things and asking for money,

One woman was five months pregnant and wanted money and cigarettes.
One man was dancing and suddenly went into a pastoral sermon ( if he was on Greenmount, I would say it was a Sermon on the 'Mount, but it was North, where, at the intersection in front on the rite-aid, there were small rats running around looking for food or a big enough hole to crawl into ).

I felt bad for the baby rats and the people, but they were creepin' and thus a nuisance more than a swan song.

We danced enough to frighten old people tonight.
We danced enough to make people look twice.
We danced enough to make people try to imitate.
But we weren't trying to intimidate.

It's how the cookie crumbles, like bees in a beehive. Stinging is for the morning hours at six am. They close four hours ahead of that; and I don't know how anyone goes out on work nights, but they do.
They dance to pop music and listen to their sat elite radio.
Sitting elite, I set lights.

And my saddle bags are telling me that this rodeo isn't over.