Cadillac Woodstock
We — I mean Frankie and me — stumble blinkingly into a not very bright daylight. A guy with a watch tells us it’s seven. (We don’t wear watches because we don’t really want to know when last call may be coming up, the bar closing, the party over.) Seven.
Cadillac Woodstock
Robert Duncan
We — I mean Frankie and me — stumble blinkingly into a not very bright daylight. A guy with a watch tells us it’s seven. (We don’t wear watches because we don’t really want to know when last call may be coming up, the bar closing, the party over.) Seven. Yes, but the essential questions pose themselves: dawn or twilight? the next day? two days later? The last thing/we knew — we barely knew it, actually — this guy was sittin’ at the bar and his chick had split and he was goin’ on and on...but when he announced “Drink up! The .drinks and the laughs on me!,” well, we just figured he was dll right.
Daylight, huh. You know it’s real nice out here. (We forget how much we love our saloons.) Anyway, some kindly soul informs us that, indeed, it’s getting into evening. Good enough by us. Now we can start drinkin’ again legitimately.