Trying out a poem noir:


Mack couldn’t decide. 

The Schlitz beer sign 

called to him like 

a redheaded dame 

whose black silk stockings 

went all the way to a 

certain heaven. 

Meanwhile, he knew 

all too well what waited 

for him down that long 

lonesome street, 

his old friend Jake. 

Yeah, Jake and the two 

38 slugs that Mack had

put in him. Payback was 

a bitch. 

Licking his lips now, 

he thought maybe 

stepping in for one 

cold beer just might

 be what he needed. 

Payback would just 

have to wait a while


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