THE GLUM BAR
Dreamed 2000/4/12 by Chris Wayan
It's late Saturday night, about 3 AM, I guess. But not closing time: our house is a bar, but we NEVER close. He-men drink morosely in silence... because our bar is special. It's the opposite of a gay bar: a glum bar! Shouldn't there be one? It's only fair.
I walk from the back room to the front, where the guys slouching around the pool table don't even pretend to play. Why bother? No babes to impress. It's a glum bar, not a singles joint!
Look out the front door, but see nothing better out there--just a sultry evening waiting for rain, all the houses dark, everyone else in the world gone to bed--with each other.
I feel bored, sad, lonely. But sleepless. I can't just leave these jerks and go home.
Because now and forever, this is home.
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