without being facetious i would like to address the fog around cigarettes.
and remove the ashtray from the bar stool blues.
i'd like to give light to the remaining few
who can't stand to chew and pull back on the reigns of what can be considered a royal flush.
while beating around the bush
i'd like to push the desire to move up on a pack of slender whites and smoke em all while the night owls stuck in their bullshit stories tuck into another lonely night of hooting it up at the corner store.
moving a match across a satisfied face of pale contentment and giving to the forever glow of a dance only those few can step to, we know the billowy waltz, and i miss last call and closing time all together.