after two sips
of the Moscow mule,
the ice rattling in the cold
metal cup,
you lean on your elbow
and look across
the bar
to a woman half your
age. she's suddenly
beautiful.
after another gulp
you swear
she just winked at you.
you order another from
the bartender,
finishing
the first one.
you wonder what magic
will happen now,
if a time machine
will appear,
allowing you to go there.
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