Went to a room the other day,

Four walls,
bare and blue,
A counter,
full and occupied,
Music,

Awful music,
Someone decided that early nineties pop was cool again,
Its squawking atrocity keeps their heads bopping,
From shoulder to shoulder,
That blond girls head over there looks like a balloon,
Might as well be,

I keep waiting for the milli vanilli track,
But they're stuck on ‘Pump up the Jams’

I drink my beer,
Its cold,
refreshing,
satisfying and full,
unlike these,
"people"

I came here to meet a friend from New York,
Go figure she’s not here yet,

I've known her since I was thirteen,
Her friends think she's really cool,
I think the ‘cooler’ she gets,
The less tolerable she becomes,

This music is really bad,

Look at that guy standing over there,
Red sweater,
Holes in his jeans,
Long Blond hair covering his face,
Parted down the middle,

I wonder if the Kurt Cobain thing is working for him,
It's embarrassing just to look at him,
Someone should tell him,

I would,
But he’s entertaining me,

After half an hour of standing there,
Bored,
Ignored,
Still thirsty,
I hand Kurt junior a quarter,
“great costume, man.”
                                   “what?”
“you’re very convincing!”

Leave him with his thoughts,

Who knows if he gets it,
He pretends not to,
As he leaves it dawns on him,
He shoots an evil glare,

Tomorrow he’ll make the change,
Grow his hair out a little more and pretend to be Iggy pop,

Back to the bar for another beer,
Then a smoke outside,
Before retreating home,

To sit by myself and watch the news,
Best company I've had all night