ก็็็็็็็็็็็็็็็็็็็็ กิิิิิิิิิิิิิิิิิิิิ ก้้้้้้้้้้้้้้้้้้้้ ก็็็็็็็็็็็็็็็็็็็็ กิิิิิิิิิิิิิิิิิิิิ ก้้้้้้้้้้้้้้้้้้้้ ก็็็็็็็็็็็็็็็็็็็็ ก็็็็็็็็็็็็็็็็็็็็ กิิิิิิิิิิิิิิิิิิิิ ก้้้้้้้้้้้้้้้้้้้้
robie kolczyki :)

Sometimes, I wonder what I'm doing here
In the middle of this tiny square room
Filled with smoke and damp carpet
Soggy with spilled cheap champagne
With the mirrors and flashing lights
And plastic bowls half of salted peanuts
In their discarded shells.
And this room with tired waitresses
Lousy, overpriced drinks

I feel sorry for the men sometimes
Mostly I just feel contempt
The men with their furtive movements
and blank faces

I feel sorry for Stacey
Her face looks as though it's been stepped on
Though her body is like angel food
Almost too beautiful to look at it
Her boyfriend probably doesn't when he hits her

I feel sorry for Lynne
With her expensive lingerie
Cheap dime store wigs
Trying to hide her identity
She's a Yal