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Can't Count the Minutes

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Can't Count the Minutes

These desert lights have called me before.
Not sure why.

My martini has one olive left.
Why am I alone? Of course I'm alone. I came here by myself.

I can't see my hands but I can see the gin in the glass.
Carefully and jubiilantly encasing green and blue.
Reflections of subtle against vivid colors dance. Perhaps red too.

Did I come here by myself?

The martini is not still. These reflections seem to draw me.

I don't care. I am alone. I have time.

And... I'm sure that's Miles Davis.

That saxophone oddly reminds me of daylight.. or perhaps the contrary.
I am lost.
But, with a martini.

Someone just lit a smoke. I can smell it.

What are my coordinates? How far did I wander?

A woman in heels asks me if I want to keep my glass. How rude.
Interrupting me as I was staring through it rather thoughtfully.

The lights in this place seem to blend together in a motley and rudimentary way.

I can still hear that sax.
Sweet sounds.
Someone is peddling keys too.

I am sure this place has swallowed me.
Saw me coming.

Yes. Leaving me broke.
But.. I always have the last drink.

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