 It's a grey february day, and we're just hanging out in old Niagara Falls, in a bar next to the river, you know, you can look out the smoke-smeared window, and see the river across River Road, but everyone there has seen that water all their life, they don't give a shit about the river or the falls; maybe you might get a grunt or something if you talked about Love Canal, mainly cause everyone knows somebody whose property values got ruined, and my friend still points out that gash on the earth every time we drive here to this sleazy but not a biker bar here in her home town, but the real purpose of coming here is perfectly clear to us and everyone else. We shoot pool. The regulars at this bar know their real purpose too, and they get to their drinking and don't even move, so we don't ever have to fight to put quarters in the table's slot, but we stack up the quarters for at least 10 games anyways, and then we chalk the cues and then we rack the balls, and then WHOOSH we break the balls, and you ain't seen nothing until you've seen the four of us playing pool in a niagara falls bar in the middle of winter with the whole bar wishing they were us, and any guy who challenges our best wishes he'd left the old bitches alone, and we're the main entertainment, we're the whole sunday afternoon show, and we don't ever let anybody down. --Nitty |
