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Nightline Hotspot

Nightline hotspot, everyone got it in speed dialed. Two sure shots to the lips and down and down all it goes. Lounge light searching, blue and purple and red and clouds, all ever-changing.

Changing: cocktail waitress, into slacks and sandals. Cover tan lines and tattoos, tie hair up knowing come shift over it’s down, one more downtown auburn letdown, down and out and back home surfing. Get rent and eats, deliver boozy syrupy sweets. Curled lip for tip, but no pinch hips.

And a register out front, till pops and the change drops down from servicer to serviced, from margin scraper to margin marionette, a fair trade. Hairs fade.

Sea green to modern grey, old paint chips while new paint rolls and dips. Classless draperies, once-table-cloth shindigs, transfered linen walls.

Our waitress out, sandals click in precision steps in time.

Out of time.

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