My headache hasn't started yet. It's in the mail
with reality checks I'll never cash. I let them pile
up in stacks, against the rainy day
I know is coming.
Meanwhile I'm keeping off the street, in public bars
they try to keep me there as long as they can
get, to settle bets and charm the snakes
with artistry and cunning.
While outside in the pouring rain, for hours
waiting idly, a taxi stands to take me
home, if we can find the way.
The meter's running
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