I empty my shopping bag; a pint of milk, two tubs of cat food, two packets of blue rizla and a bottle of wine. So this is how it is on a Friday night?
The milk goes into the Fridge, as does the Cat food, (he's been fed). The Papers in my pocket, and out comes the bottle opener. So this is a Friday night?
The milk is still in the Fridge, rolled up cigarette in hand and a glass of red touching the lips. The cat is sleeping close by, dreaming. It is Friday night?
The second goblet of rouge down the line, the cigarette is now a Joint, I hate milk and the cat is washing himself, acrobaticly, on the clean, well pressed laundry. That is just how Friday night should be?
The bottle is being raised, glass on floor, cigarette tilting from the corner of the mouth, Milk's for babies and the cat is silently sleeping. Who does one thank for Friday night?
