scenes from a sickness

getting to the gist of the matter, i try an inquiry. into, where these men live? work? i find them all crazy eyed at every woman here, and especially new women to the place. they're ALL aware of this and that, unshakable, and have heard it ALL. what have they heard? their blank stares away from conversations with others inform me of something. i don't know whether i can be certain of it, but they seem to be miserably bored. one drink leads to another. and after i talk to about a half dozen of these men, all within twenty feet of each other at the bar, i tumble outside. for a break! god, if you were real, you'd flood this place clean. smoke these fly traps out. with comfortable eyes, they prey, their nostrils glisten, and their confidence sneers. ready with one and a two. a little jab and slap. a discreet touch and fondle. they haven't debated ANYTHING, they have the main-line access to the SOURCE. watch out! anything! the black arts, magic, astrology, and deep conspiracy. they've got a wife, a bike, a house and a business. they're here to stay 'fresh'. and they're staying. as stale as cardboard, dead as carcass, and pale as sin. how quickly they throw it in. and they'll be out there the next day, all jubilant and proud they haven't been struck by lightning. their mornings will somberly creep, and their fattened fingers will reach for SOMETHING. a reprieve. a newspaper. a microwavable lunch packet. and that same blasted sun will come and meet them half way...