I push the age-rotted door and smile silver pearls as I enter my favorite bar on a Tuesday night with my shadow—frat brother slinking behind me—ready to prey on porcelain girls that only see themselves cracked in mirrors. At the counter I try and trade fuzzy navels for a flower. She is intrigued by my back alley smell and I’m favored in the second half by one. I’m aware of old tumbleweeds rolling by in judgment, but me and next are lost in talk of satin, dreams and boasts. The wooden stools begin to stick and the tab is getting high. I offer a leather chariot and a flat with shag carpet. She heads for the coatrack, and aloud I pray my hairline holds tight one more year. My shadow laughs while a severed moon gawks at us through fingerprinted glass.
Randy Brooks is an MFA graduate from the University of Baltimore and currently teaches American Literature in the Atlanta Metro area. He has been published in several online literary journals including Blue & Yellow Dog & Smile, Hon, You’re In Baltimore!