DC Hotel Bar

The lads back in Portland,

Don’t like,

My choice of whiskey.

Cheap

In a DC hotel bar.

As if Marriott was going to offer up anything other,

Than

Mediocre?

Or.

Predictable.

(I mean, there’s a Macallan OF COURSE!)

I do.

I like.

The lined up glasses,

M.C. Eschel-inspired mosaic tiles behind the bar,

Almost “Visky” brand

(A reference/analogy that will die with time.)

The red-faced-white-wine-drinking-supposedly-NSA-employee-but-I-don’t-believe-it-sitting-next-to-me-as-I’m-in-a-hotel-in-Pentagon City

Apologizes for our president’s grotesqueness

While taking a photo of my tattoos.

Fat-bottomed black woman orders another drink,

Barman pours me another before clocking off,

And a guy from Space Force (this is not a joke Cpt Kirk) rocks up.

And I,

Of all things typically not me,

Am watching ice hockey on the bar TV.

New town (I’ve been before)

New bar (but oh so familiar)

Same drinks (different labels)

And similar refrain.

Cheers mother fuckers.

Cheers.