Curtastrophe's profile

*Swallowed madness*. *Puked*. *Painted with it*.

Back at the bar, we sat underneath the softness of the down lighters. A handwritten sign above that read ACTORS DRINK-4-FREE hung at a slant like an infected tooth eagerly awaiting the crude twist of a back door dentist. I handed her the poem. Nadine snatched the wrinkled notebook page and set it on the counter. ”Do you want a drink?” I asked, reaching into an ice-filled metal bin. ”I need one.” Her voice sounded far off and distant as she read the poem aloud: Uneven and Upward the cycle spi...

Lucky’s Pub served to a mixed crowd of people. Some were artists or poets who understood that liquor and shitty decor could sometimes ease out the ideas that hid from them during the daily distractions of city life, or just life in general. Others were young professionals who met after work to discuss important business. A few rounds of melon balls or vodka martinis usually led them to an early night of casual sex but rarely anything more fulfilling. Famous celebrities sometimes stopped in. ...