on broken record players
prattle on through static,
replaying the same old blues,
night after night,
to this bar of B-side patrons.
Memories encased in cigarette smoke
fly from our mouths as we speak,
lit up by a red/white/blue flickering neon
that has been broken and dying for years.
"You know, there's a world out there!"
One friend boasts through missing teeth
and a heavy cough at every breath.
We all go silent.
He pauses, for a moment, then smiles,
"It just ain't for us!"
We all agree.
This place is our shelter
from a world of A-side chaos.