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letra de five o'clock, sundays - enablers

when the doors part the heads at the bar swivel like pooches to a sn-tch but, too bad fellas, it’s just the beleaguering vapors of andy’s early start punching in a few feet ahead of him, eager to take liberties with the imagination and stay awhile. a vicious sunlight pinch-hits for kliegs and andy takes the revenant showman’s cue, slipping the gap sideways on his heels, toothless grin abeam, arms outspread, his vibrissa geared on a sucker’s best wishes

by the half he’s greased a covey of hard-ons gussied up in their niner livery (chumps one and all), lifting a slurry of shots in praise and grief
until the final score comes down, and andy’s quarry grows decidedly tight. thus marooned, he molts under another sweat of ‘something about a woman,’ returning again and again to the lonely bead of a dome light, when the car wailed with a voice clearly on its knees

come five o’clock, sundays, andy steeps himself in his hands, drooping against any number of troubled domestic serials, l!ckin’ his chops always munchin’ gums, his mood votive in autumn’s slipping rays. even when the beloved ladies pass he remains as if in prayer
oblivious to the innocent few who dawdle over him then politely fade to the back room, where the faintly crepitant pool b-lls soon have andy dozing; slumped in a chair that appears to’ve been tendered by mutts

- enablers

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