glahn

shhh, i swear at this moment the bar itself conceived her, that... she with the fevered calls.

out of a mug of chunky glass she drinks but, how do you say, the beers poured all wrong and has a crushing amount of head to it.

ah, she plays past and sinks herself so that above that rounded pane and agitated film there are only two eyes

her eyes

and they open like you would expect a fist to eventually do and it's not really the color, shape or intensity of the eyes but that they just open

and in that way something becomes unarguable... drops out of circulation

and it's identity is dicey but it's destiny is lazy and definite

and uh the game, hammering away at the hearts of the patrons, how's that goin'?