shot glass
title
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

John Leonard


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What the Fuck am I Doing in Erie, Pennsylvania?

I am bleeding from the teeth. It's winter, but technically it's fall.
There is no music and all the pumpkins have rotted from the inside out.
Everything is frozen in November! The snow was eleven inches deep
when they buried my grandmother. And now, I am complaining to strangers.
Jesus Christ, what a depressing affair. The lips of an attractive bartender
wouldn't be enough to lift this sky, couldn't give me one night away from
the heaviness of ice-fog, or the realization that such weather exists.
The air is bad. My poetry is bad. The stench of Yuengling taints everything.