Hanging with George Thorogood and a poem.
I drink alone…
Prettiest and meanest gal in the Jazz bar. She drank alone. She looked into the mirror and she told the mirror. Fuck you. Pretty Sheila wanted no voices. She loved the silence. I left her be.
I bought her the Johnnie Walker whiskey and she gave me a smile in thankfulness. I knew her story. Love went to shit and she was mad as hell.
I drank alone too. I was so tire of the shit of this world. It wasn’t love that broke my heart. Life did. When the whiskey kicked in. Me and dear Sheila could talk. She was a pretty woman and I would tell her. Find someone kind. Find someone who want to make you happy, someone to make you smile. She would ask me. Would I make her happy? I told her. I am dead beautiful Sheila. Once I believed in love. Now I know. Rarely we know the kindness of love kindness.
She would hold my hand and she would whisper. Johnnie, Johnnie. Hold my hand and make me believe love is real. I told her. Beautiful Sheila, I can teach you love demand payment. You and me. Just prisoners of wishes that can’t come true. We are night-dreamers and foolish people, who believe love will save us.
She would look sad and she would tell me. Johnnie, Johnnie. I need just enough. Please take me home and please make me sing. Please make me believe I am alive.
I followed her home and I made her sing. In the morning, we kissed and we understood. We need someone to make us smile. I told her. Dear Sheila, what do we want?
She whispered. Thank you Johnnie for being kind to me.