Tales from My Local #1

I’m that girl that you are not paying any of kind attention to in the corner.

Quietly sipping my beer, nose buried in a screen or maybe even a book at 12:31 on a Friday night.

You might not even glance in my direction but I see you.

With a soft smirk I hear your awkward, rambling, chauvinistic, bombastic, lewd, self effacing conversations.

Oh I know I have been there, so forgive me my judgement.

I might be on the other side even now — you might have really seen me and similarly smirked my snifter of dark brew with hoodie and jeans.

So there, we are even.

I must say, however, you are quite splendid.

Although probably not the way that you intended, you are captivating.

You with your black T bible verse in star wars title theme shirt.

You expounding on the wonderful intricacies of a black pencil skirt by way of flirtation.

You with cowboy boots and miniskirt in a martini bar.

You with Reading Rainbow shirt, getting carded at the bar (sorry you are too young for that to be “retro cool”)

You four who discuss jeans— skinny jeans — for 10 minutes.

You who woo with talk of ultra-marathons being— not to brag or be like whatever or whatever — but it really is god-like.

You, who win the eve, with your Pabst hood up in summer with khaki shorts and black socks pulled up to your shins.

Please keep it up you magnificent specimen of bar culture.

This barfly is amused to no end.