drunk and stumbling.
Her makeup is "excessive".
Her outfit, "tasteless".
Her bra, "too tight".
She flirts with the bartender.
It distracts Max's game.
"Don't you think that's sad?"
he remarks,
missing the side pocket.
"Look at her!"
She's a considerable woman
wrapped in glitter-encrusted leggings
and a low-cut blouse
and a low-cut blouse
which scarcely contains
her enormous breasts.
her enormous breasts.
The blouse is too short to cover
the expanse of her midriff.
A belly ring jingles when she laughs.
"It's disgusting, " Max protests.
"No one wants to look at that."
He looks at it.
He cannot stop looking.
I nearly sink the eight ball,
corner pocket,
leaving Max an easy,
cross-table finisher.
A handsome couple enters.
cross-table finisher.
A handsome couple enters.
They order drinks,
scout a booth near the jukebox.
She adjusts her off-shoulder sweater
while laboring over song selection.
She adjusts her off-shoulder sweater
while laboring over song selection.
He picks lint from his gaberdine jacket.
She touches her makeup
with a pocket mirror,
sips her beer as if it were coffee.
sips her beer as if it were coffee.
"She's a solid 10," Max says.
"I like the big one," I say
"I like the big one," I say
as he draws the cue
for his shot.
