Nothing Out of the Ordinary

I could see them from

across the street,

drunk

and stumbling.

I turned my back

only to hear

the sound

of the first trumpet

heralding

the apocalypse.

Wait,

the brassy sound

echoing through

the empty street

was not a call

of impending

judgment,

it was the sound

of a few

mariachi players

serenading

drunks in the

midnight

hour.

They danced

in streetlight,

barely able

to keep from

falling over.

I wonder

which of

the two

found it

funnier.

Just like

*that*

the music

ended,

both players

and dancers

lost to the

night

once

more.