You sip cider
It’s apple,
You think.
But it tastes strange
Too sweet
And yet
Too bitter.
The room is dark
Pierced by neon green lights
A venomous and deceptive color.
The music is slow
Hissing.
You feel far too drunk
And find yourself struck
By a midnight clarity,
The kind that makes good and evil
So distinct
So clear.
The club is called Eden
Your waitress –
A silent woman –
Goes by Eve
She often holds her torso tightly
As if something
Inside her
Doesn’t fit.
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