Sitting in a tavern, drinking and thinking, pondering my place and my race.
I finally get her attention. She saunters over nonchalantly and I ask her for another bourbon.
I was doing this 2,000 years ago, and so was she. Pouring me wine from a clay jug.
2,000 years from now, it’ll be the same, still wondering what it’s gonna take for we and me to snap out of it.
It was the same back then. Our dress was different, but our eyes and feelings were the same.
She was indifferent then, too, and she always will be.
But I still leave a tip, anyway.