My foot taps. With every down.
You know how this goes, a repeated verse.
We move this time to take control of the situation.
They always think the same result will occur.
It is ever elusive.

I am left tapping my foot.

Progressively louder in the flickering light. The music consumes the head. Pushing groove in with a thick lather. The tapping in time, ever hitting the great throughs.

And all you want is louder. Bring it home. Set it up. On a winding straight to the finish. This is the coda. The last play.

The first act in a longer story. The dramatic set up. Everyone gasp. Landing on platforms full of eyes and legs. The coat hangs around the knees. High. All skin and buttons. A face that doesn't want to talk. Find another vending machine with cheaper prices.

The bass scratches through a tube. You didn't think it would be like this.

A red can full of answers lies to my gut. Another day.

Stay Golden.