A Bar On The Far Side Of Town

It is the middle of the week. A lone bar surrounded by industrial businesses and abandoned buildings. Young women dance inside. They dance to country music in unison. All with the same step as a cult follows a ritual. There is no emotion. The occasional flare with the standard steps, maybe, anything unique, certainly not. The personality has been sucked away so they may drift into their homogenized community. A few men dance alongside them, though I should call them boys. They stick out. A futile effort on their part to be noticed by one of these young women. Their faces defeated as they match the steps of those around them. When they tire, they sludge away to some corner. You can find them there, drinking their self hatred away. The women keep a wide berth. Old men sit on the outskirts of the dance floor with peeled eyes as if they were dogs staring at their food. They enjoy the view with a fervor that is almost uncomfortable even to me, one who doesn't care. The time is now eight thirty, the underage aren’t removed till nine. That’s why the older crowd arrives so early. A sea of boots, hats, and tucked in shirts that accentuate their out of shape bellies. I am here for the cheap drinks. Any opportunity to drink on a budget is always a welcomed endeavor. Yet for all I see there are many smiles and the echo of laughter. Each person is their own world, each group their own solar system. I will take my leave now. I’ve seen enough and the music is getting to me.