packed.
the bar
is overflowing,
every seat is taken,
every table is full.
i sidle up
to the Maitre d
and ask
him if he's met my
good friend
Mr. Lincoln. with
stealthy deftness
i show him
my five dollar bill,
folded in the palm
of my hand.
this is all yours,
i tell him,
if he sets a table
free. he laughs
that Maitre d laugh.
no dice.
he points to the door
and asks us
to leave.
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