Don’t look a gif-horse in the mouth. See why now. I’d buy them a drink. Keep the conversation light. No eye contact. Too close to the teeth. I’d imagine their a mule fan, the drink that is. Corn vodka. Not potato. Potatoes don’t grow well where their from.

After about thirty minutes of casual conversation, two double vodka cranberries pour moi, my eyes unintentionally glazed over this person’s mug. Being so intent on not making teeth contact with this being, this thing, I must have mistaken his miniature skull cup for a copper tin.

The conversation has turned… not casual. This man this horse this friend this enemy this abomination this god! It’s seen my eyes. I didn’t think it could, I wasn’t looking at it. I am a friend I said to it in my heart. Just a stranger being friendly offering conversation, stories and drinks. Yet, it feels my hesitation.

My horse headed amigo laughs incessantly about my times and trials in Philadelphia, USA. In retrospect, it was a great reprieve from earlier talks. It inherently felt nice to be listened to and not talked to.

IT IS ONLY FOR THE OBSERVER TO OBSERVE

For some strange reason it makes sense.

Now.

Mine eyes doth not recollect as such. Or whatever Shakespeare said.

Starting to feel sick. Used to the vodka. That’s not it. My copper mug. It has been replaced. I maintain my composure. It hasn’t seen my eyes…again has it?? I buy another round with a grin and a masqued laughter I hope would drown out my dispair. The cheers and celebratory glass clinks do as little as a bandage on a burn without salve. I buy another round. And another. And another. To each cheer swig and pour my abomination before god,