I like the night life baby

Nothing quite like that first beer, at the bar. Not the beer itself, but the loosening debris. Chatter all around, blah blah nothing of interest on one side, constitutional rights and their lack of current presence on the other. Light flirting on one end, all out seduction in the smoking section.

And in between thoughts, surrounding phrases catch the current of your consciousness and brew a stew until a large chunk of meat floats in and anchors it still. For a moment, the bartender becomes real and her laugh less so, more like a violent guffaw, and the $1.25 tips strewn in patterns note those who left just in time and the older man whose party just left is facing you in his bar stool, resemblance of vague from a character of Jerry Seinfeld.

And it's a buzz.

But in the morning, the buzz is cleft upon your chin and daylight laughs at the fraud. There's no middle between morning and bar life, outside of endless dues and the waiting for the highs on either side.