of a slow slow dance, under a dusty ceiling fan, in a smoky honky tonk, wearing a cowboy hat, with a talkless sturdy man…
loretta crooning, slide guitar echoing her heartache…
just one of those days when letting words slip out of your mouth is useless, silence is better, retreating to the backroom is the only way…
I’d settle for a cold beer in the middle of the desert, far away from light pollution, where the Milky Way shines bright enough to read by.
But then, I never learned to dance.
i wouldn’t mind the having the answer to life, the universe, and everything.