New World

My head pounds and all around me the drone of motorcars and
the flash of neon in bars that recide at the edge of the world. This is
where we go when luck is down and this town is a clown gallery and this
weeks exhibition is me. I trade my sadness with the barman for a glass
or two and prop with the other clowns and we form a circus of disaster.
The day ends and drinking gets faster as laughter rings from every dark
corner and women start to muscle in on the farm with cheap smelling
faces, lipgloss, slurred words and smooth arms. Soon the edge of the
world is alive with music. I swing my head from the bar and stagger
limp to my feet and leave to join the new world.