Cockjito

These nights don't evaporate or turn into toner smoke, they pile on themselves, like slides of slides of Hitler's brain or ant homes. They compress and depress spines and minds, respectively. The locked side door may keep them out, but they knock on the window of an empty room while they wonder how they managed to make it outside and light a cigarette. They pray the body in the bed will be gone by the time they manage to get back to the room, once they remember that there might be a body in that bed. I smelled the smell of people that drink too much beer and fart so much the room smells like humid shit and a waste of time, skin and effort. These are just people. People with no sense. Most people. They shit on floors because they drank too many Coors Lights and at the moment they wanted to prove that they were in control, "my choice is to shit on this floor! It's my right." I drink my whiskey and wait for the end. Everyday I wake up fresh, but flesh, other flesh, ends me and only substances or a pole up the ass keeps me standing, steady and pouring. And for what reason? Dump some piss down your throat, listen to your asshole problems at the airport and smile. And you think you got me by barely leaving a tip. I barely poured you a drink. I barely listened to you. So fuck all. If you want a "real cocktail" go down the street to where everyone wears a vest and beard and also wants you dead. If you are looking for flavor profile, look no further than my cockjito.