It's nine o' three pm... and I'm a bit happy after four shots of this drink call a "Butterball"... which apparently is Irish cream on top of schnopps. Not nasty, I refused to drink beer... because it's just nasty. I do try at times... but I'll usually only have three sips at the most, and then the rest is wasted. I mean, come on... nasty! All this doesn't actually have anything to do with why I'm posting... or well, actually it does. But it's more rambling than getting to the point. I wrote a little passage once I got back to my sister's from the bar... and so, um here it is.
The muted roar of the bar is almost deafening when you first enter. It's not until you're seated that your ear adjust and you can selectively tune in and out at your will. No one really notices you walk in - No one really cares. Why should they? They're all here to get away from thier cares, aren't they? That's why the 'tender hal heartedly calls you "Hun"... And why frink passes through lips more fluently than words. People look for safety in the bottom of a bottle. And when it goes unfound - they order another.