PTI
PTI on the screen with sneakers screeching next door, watered down beer, an old man in a faded blue Korean War Vet hat, a black cook in a snap back, the old man fiddling with his phone, the taste of mediocre barbecue in the back of mouths, day old pulled-pork grinding on molars like the lap dancers across the street, the meat sitting in guts, this red lipstick, glasses bartender who looks thicker than she is, gets prettier and prettier with each watery beer the old man downs, a forty something year old woman with acne and face covered in sauce stuck in a wheel chair, outside an African family in colorful dress walk past a small, whining dog as five high schoolers jump on each other and shout at cars and a white man with a beard and ripped denim shorts carries groceries in transparent flesh colored bags, and the old man is wondering why does he keep coming here when his social security check is still ten days away and his power is shut off and there’s cheaper ways to bag booze and look at thick bartenders with glasses and red lipstick, and a little brown girl in a pink shirt looks at her books, her backpack on the chair.
