Shrewd
Nothing much in the bar,
This man from yonder,
His alien, adulterated accent
Sets the bar in stitches,
Yet,
He whines for a twenty,
For a stick of smoke,
He egresses for a minute,
In a corner secluded,
He pulls out a pack,
Snatches a cigarette, lights it,
Enters the bar smoking,
I am just peeping with my peepers,
Mouth shut,
Another round of stitches,
He approaches another,
He egresses again.
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