Friday, 25 November 2011

The Guerrilla's Musings

Rules of Submission

We keep drinking
and maybe the next one makes the next one better.
You keep smiling and nodding
and all words fall flat on beer soaked flag stones.
We can't smoke inside anymore,
people don't like the smoke.
I don't like the cold.
But we drink
and the next one makes the next one better.

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