my bar

Sitting at the bar with the young songwriter.
Splitting shots of whiskey
and chasing stories with cheap beer.
She asked me what I was doing here.
I joked and told her I liked to keep my friends close
and my enemies closer.
Then I downed another shot for effect
‘Here’s to my next train wreck.’
She said I know what you mean.
Love and trouble are too much the same.
Sometimes you can hear ’em coming like a distant train.
And then sometimes it strikes like lightening.
Fast and Furious with just as much pain.
We sat quiet for a moment.
Things to think of and not much more to say.
On the next round of beer I asked her
where’d she go from here.
She said to another town, down another road
to a place not as pretty as this.
and that’s her life but that’s tomorrow not tonight.
Then she downed another shot for effect.
‘Here’s to what happens next.’
Sitting at the bar with the young songwriter.
Splitting shots of whiskey
and chasing stories with cheap beer.
I begin to wonder what history is here.

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