Drunk in a beat-up old furniture shop. They call it The People Who Live Under the Stairs or something. Whatever, Poland! It's all crooked paintings and jazz. I'm sure it bubbles with Daughters of Joy when the moon starts to winking.
Earlier, I was in something called the Vinyl Cafe. A charming little coffee shop where students choose a record and you have to listen to it. The hostess assumed I spoke German.
Lots of Germans here. It's the birthplace of the Red Baron, after all. And it used to be part of Germany. But so did Paris.
I'm holding my shotglass like I'm a biker and it's my girlfriend's arm. C'mere, woman!
A bossa nova cover of Kraftwerk's Showroom Dummies just came on, and I want to fuck the air around it. C',mere, air woman!
I thought about asking the waitress to cut my hair and paint my boots.
Jesus, did I just have a steak and then get medium rare? I did. If anyone wants me, I'll be at The Sphinx ordering my shotglass around. I'm staring at a cheap chandelier. The music just changed to a bossa nova cover of View to a Kill, and it's so lame it wears a chunky shoe. It sucks like a Commie vacuum cleaner.
If I were watching it live, I'd climb over a row of negresses and punch the lead singer in the lampshade. Then I'd grab the mic and yell "Long live the new flesh!" and pick my teeth with his sister's drumsticks.
The waitress suggested I try a vodka made from grass "buffalo feed on." OK! Old Kinderhook, honey! I drew my eyebrows on, I might as well make an evening of it.
Mixt with apple juice, this drink is called a "tatanka." What the fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, ever. Hey, "when in Romeclaw!"
It came with a straw which I stashed in the couch cushions. Straws are for mudbloods.
Hey, guess what? If you steal a button, your coat won't close in Hell.
I wear a wristwatch here. Can you beat that? I mean, have you ever? In your life?
The drink tastes like apples dipped in honey. It's all Rosh Hoshanah up in this bitch.
Some dude in beige pants just Ikead into the joint. I better cover my mouth, or the words "Ich liebe dich" will escape. I bet he fought with Lafayette at the Battle of Home Depot.
I bet he likes the Rolling Stones.
Actresses are smoking Lucky Strikes from a blue package. They're red at home. You crazy for this one, Wroclaw! They whisper in their hushy language. It's all "mushky brushky" and "shhh, woman, woman, woman, woman."
C'mon dad, gimmee the car tonight. I want to have a "back of the knee" party with a kielbasa-haired cougar. Hey, streetheart, I'm from the land of the dollar bill.
That's right, brother. Part the curtain with your green umbrella and come on in. You can get all horizonty for about ten bucks. You can get Dumpstered for about no dollars.
Jesus. It's another Eve-less evening for our hero.
No comments:
Post a Comment