I’ve been living on hot dogs,
waiting on a paycheck.
I drink harder, trying to pass out
before I grow hungry again.
Hungry, I can handle hungry.
It feels pretty good, sometimes.
Hungry is a cheap high.
I take a big pull from the bottle.
I’m not rationing the liquor,
that’s always in the budget.
I peek through the curtain
towards the bar across the street.
I should be a good boy, and stay in tonight.
I walk in, order a Bourbon,
and sit at the far end of the bar.
An angel in blue jeans asks me to buy her a drink.
I oblige, and pocket the peanuts
when she isn’t looking.