Wednesday, 13 January 2010

Girley Bar

"this is the life" he said.
He was one of them. Men on the far side of middleage who tuck their
black jack daniels t shirts into the extreamly high waist line of
their 3/4 lenth beige combat shorts. Arched sholders blend into
bolding, chinless wrinkeled, rounded, lose skinned faces. A room full
of aging men with skin like sun-dried wallets and wallets like bulging
crotches. All sat almost lifeless as swarms of taxi-girls hover like
scantely clad Mosquitos circling the colapsed barang cadavers hungry
for the dollars they bleed. This place is death. But they see it
as living.

Sent from my iPod

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