So it happens again that we should be at this bar. Your eyes look like sin, all hazy and distant. Another shot, another round, until our words run hot, and then we’ll roll on the floor. Our chairs begin to spin as the good times flow, how the bar’s perfectly dim, ‘til your words start to shine. Envoi: What are we doing here in this place, the cheap veneer peeling off the bar, knowing that our rendezvous will end in disgrace, walking alone under the scope of impassive stars. -Samantha Derleth