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"Have you ever seen someone so beautiful?"
He says, turning to me
He is drinking Mike's Hard Lemonade
I am drinking whiskey straight
He is younger than his voice,
A boy really
"Who?" I say, inching my stool closer
He points to the end of the bar
"The old man?" I am surprised
He is in a way beautiful
The way he leans makes me feel the weight of it
I wish I could paint him,
Sitting just like that
I want to walk over and touch each line in his face,
I want to push my fingers into the soft creases of his flesh
And feel his pulse beneath
I want to go home with the boy
"No, behind him," he says and laughs
I look past the old man and into a mirror
I see my own face,
Pale and ordinary
"For a minute," I say, "I thought you were wonderful."
But I go home with him just the same
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