fiftythree

'Hotel California' was on the karaoke. Terribly. His throat was dry, and his eyes were not. "It's nothin' in particular," he said like a man twice his age or twice as drunk. "Nothin' said and nothin' did. It's just what it is." Footsteps filed passed, raucous laughter and sensual swoons and 'it' being taken outside. More players for the overdramatic. Some hands on his shoulders now and again, looking for someone else. Someone who, they say, looks just like him, same haircut, same nose, that's crazy, man, sorry, have a good night. It's mistaken identity even when you don't recognize yourself anymore.