mixing drinks
by Rex Pryor
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scraping himself
from the alley way stones
bruised and beaten
to a near pulp
he rose and
stumbled
to his waiting car
ribs aching
bloody nose
he knew he
had spoken too quick
inside the joint
as he lowered himself
into the seat
preparing to save
himself and drive
away
his ribs felt ripped
and his head
throbbed worse
than any whiskey hangover
he ever knew
he promised himself
to never
never
issue that word
again
opening such a hell fire
"faggots"
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