LOU RASMUS

I like my seat
next to the
tap,
tap,
tap…
the faucet is
dripping.
Fuck.
“Just gimme a beer,”
I say to Phil,
the bartender,
and he gives
me one
on draft.
Then another.
Mix in a shot.
Another beer.
My gut is hot first,
then my throat
right before I
vomit.
Phil cleans it up.
He takes care
of me.
Then he feeds
me another from the
tap,
tap,
tap…
god-damn that
faucet.

**artwork done by my friend. i dont have his name