no room at the inn

It was time to reload.
I went to Texas Jack’s Liquor,
and bought a bottle of Bourbon
and a dozen beers.
As I stashed the twelver
behind the driver’s seat,
I noticed
there was no room
at the inn.
I took a look,
and a flood of yesterday
came back to haunt me,
my own personal Jacob Marley.
I had already been
to the liquor store,
last night,
while drunk.
That’s what I get,
for mixing religious
and secular
Christmas stories.

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steve

We were drinking,
and telling stories,
and my turn came up,
after Steve told us about
the time his home
had been burglarized.

I chimed in
with a story of my own,
while we were on the subject.

“I was in my study,
it must have been ten years ago,
writing on a Tuesday afternoon,
when I heard the front door open,
and someone walked in.

My wife was at work,
and I wasn’t expecting company,
so I walked out to see
who my visitor was.

As I hit the living room,
I set eyes on a total stranger,
beginning to rifle through the cabinets.

WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?,

I shouted,
the sound somewhat muffled.
He froze momentarily when he saw me,
and sprinted out the door
in sheer terror.

Apparently,
he had never been greeted
by a naked man in a gas mask,
prior to that moment.”

“Why were you naked,
and wearing a gas mask?”
Steve asked.

“You know,
no one has ever asked me
that particular question,
so I haven’t had to come up
with an answer yet, Steve.”

Steve doesn’t come over,
like he used to.

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fly on the wall

I was growing tired of the party,
everything was mundane,
and ordinary,
and bland.
The food was good,
then the food was gone.
Everyone had coupled up,
give or take a few,
and everyone was talking
in great detail
about jobs they hated.
I was about to say my goodbyes,
when someone
caught their husband sucking
someone’s husband’s cock.
Maybe I’ll stick around
for one more drink,
I thought.

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revelations

I went to the bar,
three,
maybe four
in the afternoon,
and stared past
the bartender,
at the rows of bottles
lining the wall,
and behind them,
my own reflection
in a dirty mirror.
I started working my way
through the Bourbons,
moving down the line
from left to right.
I was on my fourth
or fifth
before I realized
the bartender
was pretty.
That probably means
she was not.

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the baker’s dozen

I looked around,
and everyone was young,
and beautiful.
I had been there
far too long.

I left the bar
through the back door,
lit my cigar,
and walked off
into the fog.

I needed to find a place
where you can be old and ugly,
and not stick out,
A carton of rotten eggs,
with room for one more.

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