The Mad Ones

by Damion Hamilton　
　
On the parking lot of the bar, two in the afternoon
You notice the battered car, dented up body of a Ford escort,
No hubcaps, plastic in two of the windows,
It yells a story to you
A familiar story
　
Head into the bar
2 O’ clock in the afternoon
　
It’s a nice, sunny, warm Saturday afternoon too
　
And before you came, you wondered what
You would do this day,
　
A day off from work
　
Some people might have went fishing, or
Camping or to a park to enjoy the
Weather
　
But not you
　
You enter the bar, as you have entered it
A couple of thousand times before
　
It’s dark in there
On a sunny Saturday afternoon
Its dark, smoking dreary and smells like
Sex
　
You order your beer, get it and sit far away
From everyone
　
Ur trying to hide
　
The girl dancing on stage, reminds you
Of a starved cat on meth.
　
She’s dancing hard
　
Aint nobody watching
　
The music is loud and very bad,
　
As she yells out, “fucker.”
　
You sip the drink slowly
　
You have no better place to be
　
　
The girl dancing is mad--they say
She cant work regular job, when I
See her, she always threatening to
Quit
　
She’s been saying that for two years
　
She walks over you and asks for a dollar
You want to tell her something funny, or sexy
But am too damned depressed to do it
　
You stay and drink a couple more
　
Until its less sunny outside
　
You leave and head back to a beat up
Old 96 Pontiac Grand Am, no hubcaps,
Dented body, trashed insides
　
Ur a Mad One Too