Wired

Sitting in a shell hole, blanking out the background noise to hear the band tuning up for another set.

The pretty cocktail waitress leans over, smelling of gardenias, setting down my whiskey and soda, the tinkling ice cubes matching the piano player's opening refrain.

"Are you sure you want that drink, honey?" my date sounds concerned, "you're already pretty buzzed."

"Buzzed? I'm legless!" I grin.

The band strikes up a dance tune, my gorgeous date rises.

It's amazing what runs through your mind, at the end, cold, alone, leaking lifeblood into Flanders mud.

"Think I'll sit this one out, sweetheart."