waynes expert tailoring needs a new sign

by Steven J. Serafiani

haven’t slept in a long time. I mean really slept.

anxiety throbbing all the way down
my joints, nippin at my heels, needed
a night drive. went yuppy, north of
chicago to a tea joint but before that
bought a bottle of wine at a super
                      market where I stole
some grapes and looked at married
women in the frozen section. tea joint
doesn’t have a wine opener; dismay but

free vegan pumpkin bread from the lonely
employee who is attractive and may be

attracted. tell her my car got fucked by
a two by four that shot at me on
the freeway this morning; don’t

think she cared much. I want to get
drunk but.   instead I get a fair trade pour
over: awaken  for what.  take

a break from my notebook filled with
nothing to have a smoke, probably my
millionth and notice that waynes expert tailoring needs a
    new sign; it’s flickering- symbiotic. my

gas tank is empty, shop is closing and just want my wine

drive back with gas light blinking whilst
passing numerous stations then think about
a niece that I’ll be cradling soon- oh need to change my
ways: porsche

zips by with models laughing and kissing put on
a local jazz station- miles davis get stopped
by a train
lit million and one, looked over at what’s left of
my passenger side mirror as it hangs there wondering
If I got enough gas to make it home

point of this all, this night, is that
I don’t feel quite right.

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