Smoke Season

I miss cigarette season. Those fleating nights when we denyied ourselves no indulgances, broke every little rule, went back on that long list of last year's New Years resolutions. Alright. Lets be bad. Just one pack for tonight's adventure. Just another pack for another of our cozy mornings after. Ciggerette season. All our worries exhaled up and disapated.

Drinks....a "character" ordered.

Why is it so hard to get laid? My legs were like social networking. Open. Current. Accessible. Accessible, like that album review you read on Pitchfork. Accessible, like some novice to teach..eager to please.  Accessible, like that last beer ill always let you finish. I know i'll never say it, but it's hard keeping up with you. I was trashed three beers ago. Thanks for catching my epic "trip over nothing" so quietly. Ego and me ordered another drink each hour, though I knew ego was full of shit. Why's it  so hard? I don't know what I did to deserve it, but I deserve to get laid. I shaved my legs twice today. But I deserve to get laid. Wore a thin dress today. Deserve to get something. ..Something. You know I do. I ate each olive from your glass. Olives make my whole face pucker. Man, I twirled my hair and was persistently witty.. you didn't brush my leg once. It was right there. Warm. Inviting. Uncrossed. Why's it so hard to laid? Why so hard on a summer night?