I am sitting in the White Horse Tavern somewhere deep in Lower Manhattan sipping a three dollar glass of Yuengling and waiting for an order of rubbery chicken fingers to arrive. This is the kind of place in which you never say hello or goodbye to the bartender. “Thank you” is out of the question. [...]

The light dances upon the waves drawn down decrepit landscapes and amid the cacophony spiraling my ears (glorious soul-steering). Waves ripple echoes turmoil beads of illumination endeavor to press through and submerge once more all in rhythm this expression (sorely lacking). Such crests and troughs the mercuric slices come from within are appeased from without. [...]

Not much to add. After this festival is over, The Whiskey Dregs: Plugged will return to its regularly scheduled program. I swear. I will add this last part…OK, maybe two or three last parts.

I don’t understand My crazy cousin clothed in black Seated slouched on my black couch Making me laugh then weep Because ¯for being so cheap I have messed up my feet¯ He’s a poet and legend Who flew to Manhattan When bread prices soared Was redirected to Vietnam Where he died/cause they lied ¯and so, [...]