I'm staying in this old hotel, and I think the ghost have a sense of humor, one sorta like mine. Rough, mean, smart-assish, but not really supposed to be hurtful.
I checked in early, and chewed the cuds. Hit the pavement, boring just traveling by the soles of your shoes. Made it about 2 blocks, then sat down for a beer. The bartender was a scruffy mutt.
had one and sontered to my nights home.
Its an old hotel, with old elevators. I pused my floor, top floor, and some more got on and punched in.
White collards, dudes that have to travel for work. Me and my growler moved to a polite corner. I started thinking and bing, were at my floor, my hairs are standing on end, I'm the first one off, it skipped the other floors. I push thur, hear some grunts and carry my brown glass full of fresh cold beer to my room.
I think I am going to end up being a ghost. Prying and dabblin, poking ya, just getting that last few drops of life left in the bottle.
This is Tony:
its a photo from work yesterday.
a another good day.
cheers readers, really lift a glass.
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