I think I’m the last one at the bar when I
meet the glance of a sometimes friend from across the room and we
drink to preoccupy our hands and
talk about work to preoccupy our minds and
wonder why it’s always times like these when we make too much noise
as we sip and swallow, sip and swallow.
And until we talk ourselves empty,
it never crosses our minds to ask ourselves why we’re alone in a bar at 4am with a sometimes friend talking about the weather.