by Doug Draime
“Nothing is louder
than the voices
in my head,
especially when
I don’t drink.
So, I keep drinkin’
to not hear them
fucking voices.”
He smiled and winked,
handing me the bottle of
cheap port
in a paper bag.
I closed my eyes
and took a long, deep drink,
feeling it burn
igniting my blood,
my head rushing.
He was still smiling when
I opened my eyes.
“I can sure see you love that port, boy. I
can see you love that port”
He started to laugh as he gestured
with his hand for me to pass
the bottle over once again.
October 4, 2009
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- The Landlord
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- THE HOLOCAUST (3)
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