Covered Dishes Part 2

Covered Dishes 2 Into the tattooed tavern we sauntered dreamily, squinting our delirious eyes, while blinking rapidly, and flinching from the electronic glare of spit-polished mirrors, shining as an insane sun would, without reflection, without resonance, hanging on a purple breast, extending out like a promontory of covered platters and purple dishes; and there were young girls present wearing the costumes of the naked, seeking to dance in the germ puddles, with waxed earbuds donned, and eyes scanning for blue jean bulges, a promise, and a ring. Instead, they find the Shadow, pulsating wildly under the neon cocktail that oozes desperation; they crisscross the floor, only to find more phony friends, and traipsing ghosts that hurry away, never looking, never listening. “Ah, miss, may I buy you a white whale? Certainly I can afford to buy you a moment of pointless romance.” But she doesn’t perceive the wondrous latitude, of that amazing moment in time, this hollowed babe in black heels, just staring point blank into my eyes. Waiting for the nod, the supreme tilt to aggrandizement! At last it arrives, as autumn sensibly arrives, and the truth can be seen. “I would kiss you now, miss, here under this humming cocktail sign, that glows its neon blood upon your open lips. But Death wants another drink. Look. It’s waiting down the bar a ways. It’s staring at you with mouth decidedly open; It wants your blood in a beer glass, with your sea-sodden tears in a chaser.”