Drone

The onward rush carries you forward
into the day.

The traffic makes you restless as you
sit there staring at miles of red lights.

Work makes your mind idle as it
begins to wander.

You get up from your desk and
walk to the bathroom.

You didn't need to go, you just
needed to move.

The commute home mirrors the
morning.

The dying light is the only
difference this time.

You go to the bar by your house
and sit on a stool.

The bartender sets your drink
in front of you.

She knows you well.
She knows.

Another drink becomes
several.

Time is smeared like wet paint
by a hand running through it.

Money floats away like it
was never yours.

Memories drown in a sad
oblivion.

Even the night ends.