Now John at the bar is a friend of mine. He gets me my drinks for free. And he's quick with a joke or to light up your smoke, but there's someplace that he'd rather be. He says, "Bill, I believe this is killing me," as a smile ran away from his face. "Well, I'm sure that I could be a movie star if I could get out of this place."
Sunday, January 18, 2009
I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity
A little early, but because blogging at work is verboten (at least for the moment), happy 200th birthday Edgar Allen Poe (January 19, 1809)