Bright yellow and bold. Repeated and redundant.
a seemingly real problem in Ned. A homeless nightmare.
Two toned faded eggshell blue with a chrome pinstripe.
charred black shines rotate to a baseball cap head nod
two wheels warping a song on a flashy metal spoke
The overflowing mountainous beer suds were reminiscent of the morning hike.

Anxiety taking on physical form. NO ALCOHOL BEYOND THIS POINT. The burning buzz is deafening.
The voice of inquiry.
it’s plain fun and i’m glad its easy
it sits in the space with Charles Bukowski.
You could hear them disappearing in the glass like you could hear the snow slush under our feet.

The bumps are free massages for fingertips.
the oil rubbed on the brush slick to the hard ribs continues its slide
the polished weight of the pine beetle table sits heavy and thick
Sugarcoated Cadbury eggs.
Cold frothy ridges.

What does a fucking sign taste like? Cleaning supply.
The engagement of tastes, clad, shag, right of the telephone pole.
melted moldy popping placeholder where the crisp note hits plastic
the movement in your mouth from a clockwise ale
The whole day tasted like a best of Colorado advertisement.